#have you seen fabric prices though

[smute]

i say this all the time but plus size clothing for men is so fucking depressing!!!!!!! WHERE IS THE COLOR?? WHERE ARE THE PATTERNS???? and im not even talking about like. 3 piece suits and business wear which is obviously more conservative by definition. but its everything. everything looks like urban camouflage including casual wear active wear even stuff that's intended to be fashionable or exciting or DARING or whatever only comes in acceptably masculine colors. you're allowed to dress a LITTLE more daringly BUT ONLY IN NAVY AND DARK GREEN lol go be invisible fatties!!!!!! <333 and every damn day i see womens clothes that fuck so unbelievably hard if i could i would never step foot in a men's department ever again

[badolmen]

Look, centrism is shitty especially in the current political climate etc etc but sometimes both sides are at two extremes so insane you end up feeling like the whack job for suggesting moderation.

[oceantornadoo]

ghost comes home

the 141 needs a place to sleep for the night and your house happens to be here. (simon introduces his secret wife to the task force, and it gets steamy after)

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ghost trudged up the hill, already regretting his decision. the 141 needed a place to lay low for the night, and of course they happened to be a mile from your remote summer home. he had a feeling you’d be there too, and here he was bringing four killing machines to your door in the middle of your summer vacation.

they had stopped before the door, and soap was itching with curiosity. it was a cozy lake house, two stories tall and perfect for a small family. there was a car in the driveway and the front porch lights were on, but he didn’t have any clue as to what, or who, awaited them inside. even though ghost had his mask on, soap could still sense how reluctant he looked. “don’t ask questions. come here.” ghost led them around the house to a small shed, wood on the outside but surprisingly modern on the inside. he opened up a military standard weapons storage unit and pointed at it. “every single gun, knife, grenade, weapon. in here.” price had started removing his weaponry but gaz and soap did a double take. “l.t. you’re saying go completely weaponless? what if-“ “if you can’t defend yourself with your bare hands that’s your problem, not mine. if you want to sleep outside, go ahead.” ghost said definitively. gaz and soap complied, and soon the group looked a lot closer to four guys on a camping trip than a ruthless task force. they went to the front of the house again, and ghost pulled out a key. “don’t make noise, don’t touch anything, don’t sit. the lights are going to be off. shoes off at the door.” the anxiety was getting to soap, he had no clue where they were but with how protective ghost seemed, he had a feeling he was going to know a lot more about his l.t. soon.

ghost opened the door, instantly greeted with the after smell of those lavender candles you always lit. it was dark except for the lowlights he had installed last june so that you could see when you came downstairs at midnight for a snack. he saw your books on the breakfast table and your slippers in the living room, the comforting feeling of home covering him like a warm blanket. he took his shoes off and walked quietly to the stairs, knowing every squeak and how to avoid them. a door upstairs opened and he swore underneath his breath, not wanting to wake you until the morning, but of course you’d seen his location and wanted to say hello.

it was midnight, and you had just finished a particularly smutty chapter in your romance book when you got the notification that the door had been opened. you checked simon’s location and of course it was him. you flung of the covers and opened your door, greeted with a silent house except for the sounds of fabric moving. you looked down the stairs and there he was, skull mask shining in the moonlight. you rushed down the stairs and jumped into his arms, reveling in the feeling of home. “hi si.” you said breathlessly, legs tightening around his waist. “hi, dove. did i wake you?” you pulled up his mask for a long kiss, heart beating finally finally. “no, i was reading.” “aye, one of those dirty romance books, hm?” you giggled as he knew you so well. “maybe so. you’ll just have to come upstairs and…” you trailed off, having looked over his shoulder into the living room where three giant men stood awkwardly. you climbed out of his arms (simon huffed), intrigued by the situation at hand. “you brought company?” you turned on the lights to reveal the three strangers.

soap blinked and couldn’t believe his eyes. there was his l.t., a 6’4 killer on the battlefield, with his mask half up his chin, hand around your waist, and love in his eyes. and of course, there was you. you didn’t seem nervous to have three intimidating men in your living room, if anything you looked excited. you seemed molded to ghost, your movement reflecting each other for maximum physical contact at all times. quickly, you pulled down ghost’s mask so the team didn’t have the chance to glimpse his face. you moved forward with a small smile, head cocking as you analyzed the men in front of you. “dove, this is-“ “the 141. i’ve heard a lot about you. didn’t expect to meet you all in my pajamas.”

“you’re much better looking than us anyways.” soap replied, diffusing the tension. he didn’t miss how ghost’s hand tightened on your waist and his eyes narrowed. this was going to be fun.

“well it’s lovely to meet you all, though i’m not sure why it’s right now. i’m -“ “mrs. riley.” ghost cut in. “you will address her as such.” you smacked his chest playfully as he looked down at you, eyes switching from cold protectiveness to endearment. “nonsense. you can call me by my name.” you said, extending your hand to price. “you must be captain price. and you’re wearing your hat!” the greetings continued in a similar fashion as you remarked upon everyone’s unique physical indicators, known from simon’s constant stories about the group. after realizing the military was in fact in your living room, a slight tension curled up your spine. simon noticed immediately, of course, and turned you both around, giving you a sense of relief. “guns in the house?” you whispered, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. that was the one requirement you had. “never, love. they’re in the shed.” you relaxed instantly. “okay, they can stay. are you staying?” your thumb laid over his hand, tracing the veins you had memorized thousands of times before. “you’ve got me for one night. transport comes at noon tomorrow. you sure you’re okay with this? we can camp outside. just happened to be near the house and needed a place to sleep.” “of course i’m okay with it, si. i trust you. and now i have you for one night.” you ended with a smirk, knowing your husband would not get a lick of sleep tonight. “we have two guest bedrooms, so you’ll have to share.” you announced, turning back to the group. “i’ll go ready the rooms.” simon whispered into your ear, squeezing your waist once before going upstairs. he didn’t want to leave you alone but he trusted his men, and didn’t want you to work more than you had to. he never did.

“well,” you plopped down in your favorite chair, the men still standing awkwardly. “sit down. we’ve got about five minutes to answer your questions before my husband whisks me away for the night.” soap sat down eagerly, bouncing with energy as he readied all his questions. gaz took in the scene before him, and only had one burning question. “captain, why aren’t you surprised?” price turned to him with a small smile, taking his hat off out of respect. you answered for him. “john and i have talked before, just never in person. there’s a lot of paperwork to do when you want to marry a ghost who’s in a secret task force.” you played with your ring finger unconsciously, and though your ring was off as you had been preparing for sleep, they could all see the tan outline on your fingers. “i’ve known about mrs. riley here for a while, but her existence is the only thing ghost told me.” price added in. he was big on respect, but even he was excited to meet ghost’s secret wife. the one who has extended secret protection whenever he was deployed, the one whose ring he wore next to his dog tags. 

“i think you want to rapid fire interrogate.” you said with a smile, turning to soap. “let’s do it”.

“where’d you meet?”

“manchester.”

“how?”

“i spilled my drink on him in a cafe. might have been on purpose to get him to talk to me.”

“you’re the perfect lass for him. how long have you been together?”

“four together, two married.”

they all exhaled a breath at that. for four years, ghost had been carrying a secret. with his past, or as much as he told them, they knew why, but it was still a blow.

“he loves you guys. he wanted to tell you all, we’d been planning it. just not like this. he kind of hoped someone would notice the ring on his dog tags and bring it up, but i had a feeling you all were a bit scared of him.” you could sense the tension and wanted to show simon’s thinking process to them as much as you could without spilling his secrets. with his past, he had been so worried about you being in danger. it was one of your agreements that he’d tell them in his time, and never before.

“what do you do?”

“i’m an author, hence the books.”

there were books everywhere. the shelves, the tables, the floor. in fact, with the lights on, soap now noticed a small ball of fur cuddled with a book under the coffee table.

“did ghost build this place?”

“basically. it was a fixer-upper. he gave it to me for our honeymoon and he’s been working on it ever since. it’s my getaway when i want to write.” soap spotted ghost coming down the stairs, and wanted to make the last question less personal, just in case.

“how do you deal with the bad jokes?” you opened your mouth to reply, but simon’s hand rested on your shoulder and you closed it. “enough. your rooms are ready.” simon said in a gruff voice, wanting to be alone with his wife already. you knew what that tone meant, and you rubbed your thighs together in anticipation. you guided the men to their rooms, gaz and soap splitting one, making sure they had everything they needed. then finally, finally, you went into your room with simon and locked the door.

“hi again.” you said shyly as he gathered you into his arms. “you good? overwhelmed?” he asked, knowing he had intruded on your solitude without warning. “i should be asking you that. are you okay?” you guided him to your bed, sitting him down on the edge. he sighed, and you slowly pulled off his mask, giving him time to stop you. with his face finally revealed, you pulled him in for a deep kiss, moaning at the taste of your husband. “i’ve missed you.” simon finally said, avoiding your last question. “me too.” you kissed his forehead, his hairline, trailing down to his cheeks and chin. reverent. it had been two months, not the longest you’ve gone without him, but still you never got used to the time alone. his hand twitched as he showed the number three with his fingers. a while ago, you had a long conversation about showing your emotions. when either of you were too overwhelmed, you used your hands to show it. one meant needing alone time, two meant panic attack, and three meant being together and moving to a different subject. you gave him a small smile, running your hands through his hair, shorter now that he was deployed. “let me make you feel good.” you whispered, and he nodded, putting his trust in you easily.

you unclipped his gear, slowly, surely. slipping off his vest, guiding his arms. you slid off his gloves one by one. simon loved how you treated him delicately, so different from his life in the military. there were no threats, no enemies to think about, just you and him in this quiet room. he’d soundproofed it last year after the incident with your parents, so there were no worries about disturbing his teammates. with his gear off, you took off his shirt, bringing it over his head and throwing it into the corner. his scars were fully visible, and you kissed each one with pleasure. “let” kiss “me” kiss “make” kiss “you” kiss “feel” kiss “good” kiss. he was slowly coming back to his body, the overwhelmed feeling disappearing with your love and affection. “yeah, love? gonna make me come?” he grinned, pushing the hair out of your face as you lowered yourself to his crotch. 

he helped you take off his jeans, leaving him only in his boxers while you were still fully clothed, the contrast making him hard. you breathed over his hardness, a contrast to the cool ac. he gathered your hair in one fist, giving him a full view of you hungrily looking at his cock. “take it out.” he ordered, and you complied, untucking him from his boxers. “i’m glad you introduced me to everyone today. you did so well.” you said, your words warming his heart. he liked praise, sometimes, and you were trying to make this as good as possible, not knowing when you’d see him next. “had to make sure they knew my wife who sucks my cock so well.” he replied. “you gonna actually suck it, or you just gonna kneel there, looking so pretty on your knees?” you chuckled at his words. slowly, you licked him from base to tip, satisfied with the groan he gave you in return. “spit” you said, offering him your hand. he complied, and you brought it down back to his cock, working your hand up and down. you started with kitten licks, feeling him jerk in your hands at every touch. wetness pooled in your pajama shorts, and you shifted, letting the seam of the fabric work at your aching clit. “stop teasing or i-” he stopped with a moan as you put his entire length in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. you hummed and his cock twitched. you worked your mouth up and down, using your hand when you couldn’t go all the way. seeing him undone was turning you on as you shifted on your knees, letting your shorts work your clit. you swirled your tongue around his tip and went back down, your other hand gripping his balls with a short squeeze. 

he bucked into you, and you knew he was close as he started fucking your face. he reached the back of your mouth and tears streamed down your face, but you didn’t make him stop. your hand left his balls and went down to your clit, pushing your palm against it to find the friction you were chasing. “does getting your face fucked turn you on, dove? my little wife?” you whimpered and he moaned, pulling you closer to his cock. “gonna come on your face, open up.” he withdrew, sticky strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. you put your hand back on it and stroked, ropes of cum landing on your face and neck. your tongue darted out to taste him and he groaned, laying down fully on the bed. “that was so good, lovie. you did so well, come ‘ere.” you climbed on top of him, thighs messy with your own wetness. “need you inside me, si. need to come.” you stripped off your shirt and shorts, tits bouncing in his face. he took your nipple in his mouth and you groaned, hands pushing against the headboard to keep yourself upright. simon’s hands came to your hips, sitting you down with his half-hard cock against your ass. “give me a second.” he said in a raspy voice. “okay, old man.” you replied cheekily. he slapped your ass and you giggled. laughter turned to moans as his hand slid down, putting two fingers inside you. “look at you, so greedy for my cock. have you been fucking yourself with the toys i got you?” his other hand tweaked your nipple, a bit of pain in a rush of pleasure. “i have, thinking of you. been missing your cock.” his thumb circled your clit just the way you liked it as his other hand went up from your nipple, choking you. “show me.” he withdrew his fingers and you whimpered as he licked them. you shifted backwards, impaling yourself on him. “si, its too much.” you had forgotten how big he was, and you felt so full, stuffed with his cock. “you can take it, wife.” you both sat there for a minute, letting your leaking cunt adjust to his cock. his hands massaged your nipples, getting you wetter and wetter. “wait, i have a surprise for you.” you leaned over to your bedside table, still full of simon, and pulled out a small box. simon sat up a bit and opened it, smirking as he took in the contents. he withdrew the gold clamps, setting the box aside. his hand grasped your left tit as he sucked it slightly, then withdrew. he opened the clamp and closed it around your hard nipple, an electric shock of pain running through your system. “you like wearing jewelry for me, hm? looking pretty, all stuffed with my cock while the boys are sound asleep next door. wonder if they’re thinking about you, wife.” you gasped, images of being shared with simon’s teammates running through your mind. you had had threesomes with simon before, but never with that many participants. while you were distracted, he closed the clamp around your other nipple. he tugged on the chain connecting them, bringing your mind back to him. “they wouldn’t fuck you like this, though. won’t get you dripping after they fuck your face.” his hips started moving upwards now that you were adjusted to his length, hands resting on your hips. with the feeling of the clamps, his dirty talk, and your stimulated clit, you were right on the edge. “si, i’m gonna come. please let me come.” his hand moved from your hip to your clit. “come for me, dove.” you shattered with a moan, glad for the soundproofed walls. your thighs trembled as you sat back down on his cock, and simon could feel you weakening. 

he flipped you both over, staying inside you, and started fucking into you with abandon. his hand slipped under your head to protect it from hitting the headboard as he got rougher and rougher. your tits bounced, the clamps holding steady with every thrust. your hands came around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “my husband.” you groaned, never tiring of calling him that. your hands scratched his shoulders, urging him into you more and more. he changed the angle so he grinded against your pubic bone, and you could feel your second orgasm coming. “si, come with me. i want you inside.” he moaned into your shoulder, keeping the pace. “right there, love, im right there.” he panted, needing just a bit more. “fill me up, si. i’ll be making breakfast for the boys and they’ll see your cum running down my thighs. i’m yours.” you both came to that image as he pumped into you, making you leak with his cum. “fuck.” he collasped into you, holding off his weight as to not squish you. cock still inside, he removed the clamps, licking each nipple after. “did you think of me when you bought these?” he said, growling. “i got so horny i had to get off in the public bathroom right after. thinking of you the whole time.” you replied. “gonna make you wear these all the time now so your cunt is always ready for me.” he slipped out and you both sighed. 

he left and came back with a warm washcloth, cleaning you both up. you yawned, so tired from the night’s events, glad to have your husband home. simon turned off the lights and tucked you both in, ready to sleep with his love in his arms. “i’m home, dove.” he whispered, kissing your forehead and tangling his feet with yours.

“i’m home.”

[sunonyoreface]

One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

 Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

 According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

 My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

 In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

 One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

 Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

 Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

 Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

 His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

 However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

 He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

 “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

 “Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

 But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

 “What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

 “Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

 “Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

 “Negative.”

 “Are you sure beca-“

 “Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that���s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

 Fine. I won’t try to help.

 I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

 When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

 Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

 Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

 He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

 I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

 I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

 When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

 It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

 On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

 “What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

 When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

 I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

 I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

 “Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

 Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

 I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

 At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

 I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

 As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

 The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

 I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

 The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

 Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

 Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

 It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

 Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

 I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

 I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

 “If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

 “Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

 “Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

 “I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

 “That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

 It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

 “I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

 “C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

 The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

 I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

 “Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

 As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

 Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

 Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

 Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

 I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

 For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

[ivypos-writes]

with my touch (i have cursed you)

— aemond targaryen

summary: His first touch plants a seed of desire, and it is only a matter of time before it blooms.

Or, all the times Aemond touches her, and the one when he lets himself be touched.

warnings: 18+, au—no dance of dragons, targcest, aemond being a tease and a little shit, mutual pining, unhealthy amounts of tension, first times, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, multiple orgasms, aemond being pathetic (he whimpers), smut with plot (and the plot is just prolonged foreplay)

word count: 8.7k

notes: so. i wrote this thing. english is not my first language. all reblogs and comments are very appreciated! aemond girlies, we are so back.

(also available on ao3.)

The street is bustling with life.

She is little more than a dull spot against a variety of colours, and something about the thought of blending with the surroundings is more comforting than anything she has ever known. She tightens her hold on the large hood of the cloak and pushes past a gathering of haggling customers, giggling as they shout in indignation.

It is still early, though the skies above head are spotted with warm oranges and pinks. The air is different here. Sultry. She traverses the cobblestone paths and passes through alleys filled with shops and boisterous merchants, and her eyes grow brighter with each step.

She has known life in its subdued form—in gold and jewels, and soft-spoken words, and lullabies sung at nighttime. She has been sheltered, and dressed in gowns, and taught to wield practiced smiles and pretty countenance. It is the first time that she experiences havoc. There is dirt and dust, and curses falling left and right, and women dressed scarcely in anything, scraps of fabric falling down their shoulders without care for decency.

In these streets, life is fervent. Chaotic, unashamedly passionate, and lewd in ways that render her breathing shallow.

At once, she is filled with greed.

Led by impulse alone, she blurs into the masses of depravity. She forgets about her name and titles. Here, she is just a woman—not a silver-haired maiden, or a dragonrider, or her mother’s daughter. It is easy to forget duty when it is nowhere to be seen; when it is replaced with pure, unadulterated perversity.

Something flutters in her heart, and it must be freedom.

She passes by multiple stands, and because here she is not a princess, she catches the string of a flower pendant and snitches it from its spot. The trader doesn’t notice, too engrossed in his attempts to sell his goods for a too-high price. She is quick to hide it deep inside her pocket, and the smile that lightens her face is radiant.

Her feet ache, but she stubbornly speeds towards the nearest corner. It is right there, and she almost reaches its edge—

“Are you up to no good, niece?”

A gasp tears out of her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed and flushed, and finds a splash of silver-white strands shining against worn-out fabric. She scans the porcelain skin and the puckered scar that paints it in pinks; traces the leather of the eyepatch. He looks different in this particular light. Warm hues of the sky bathe him in a gleam that softens the curves of his features; there is an odd gentleness in him that she doesn’t recognise.

“Aemond,” she murmurs.

He seems pleased with himself. She catches a glint in his eye that whispers of carefully restrained mischief; his lips are curved into the beginning of a smile. She’s seen this particular expression only a handful of times, and always in the face of chaos.

It suits him. More often than not, and only ever quietly, she thinks he was carved for it.

“I didn’t take you for a little thief.”

Her cheeks burn. They must be scarlet red, and she inwardly curses both the humidity and the weight of his gaze that only fuels the onslaught of the tint. Aemond’s smirk grows. The blatant exhibition of her shame appears to have entertained him.

“A thief?” she repeats, eyes rounded with what she hopes is a convincing display of innocence. “Have you any proof?”

He breathes out a little laugh. It’s sharp and fleeting, and she drinks up the sound of it, oddly enthralled. She is not familiar with his laughter. Her skin prickles as its remnants linger between them.

Aemond moves closer, and soon the distance between them is so small that their cloaks brush against one another.

She is so caught off-guard that she barely notices the pendant dangling from his finger. Aemond swings it in front of her face, and when she reaches for it with a surprised gasp, he moves his hand away in the blink of an eye.

Her mouth twists in displeasure. His grin grows.

“Give it back,” she demands.

“It wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I claimed it as mine.”

“Did you?” Aemond’s eye lights up in flames. From this close, she can almost sense the heat. “Is it as simple as that?”

“It is.”

She doesn’t expect him to truly return the pendant into her waiting hand, and her eyebrows furrow in surprise when he does. Aemond says nothing more. His expression is meticulously crafted—it is layers upon layers of riddles that she does not know how to solve. She imagines peeling them off one by one and finding him as he is—bare before her eyes. She wonders what she’d find written over his face when it is unspoiled by composure.

His fingers briefly tickle the skin of her palm before they’re gone. They leave a searing trail in their wake.

“It’s a poor disguise.” Aemond eyes the hood that falls onto her forehead, and the few curls that cascade down her face in silver streaks. “If you want to sneak out into the city, you ought to be more clever.”

She scowls. “And you, of course, know everything about it.”

There is contemplation in his eye. He rids himself of the smiles that she doesn’t recognise, and puts on a calculating face that she’s seen many times before. It makes him look more familiar. Most of the times that their paths cross, she finds him lost deep in thought.

“Come.”

She eyes his outstretched hand with scepticism.

He will likely drag her back to the Red Keep—to the judging stares and stinging reprimands and her mother’s burning disappointment. There is nothing she loathes more than being forced to endure interrogations regarding her behaviour. She will be scolded, as if it is a crime that she, a girl, has decided to experience something more than feigned propriety.

She thinks she would rather stay within the dirt and stench of the city.

Aemond hums in response to her silence, and the sound is so low that she needs to chase it through the clamour of the street. There is something akin to understanding that appears on his face.

His hand remains still.

“Do you wish to see the city or not?”

She blinks, perplexed, and it takes a mere moment for her fingers to lace with his. His are warmer than hers; heat engulfs her, and she unconsciously presses against him with doubled force.

When her eyes return to his face, Aemond is already watching her. He leans towards her. His breath tickles her cheek.

“Stay close,” Aemond orders. He stands in such proximity that they breathe the same air. “And don’t be a brat.”

She lets him tighten his hold on her hand, and soon they are walking the path side by side.

Aemond shows her the city in all its glory, and not once does his grip waver.

She spends the night tracing the remnants of his fingertips on her skin.

He smells of smoke.

It is a cloudless day, and she has decided to forsake the red walls of the castle in favour of the sun-soaked yard. There is only the scent of grass and parchment. It is why she senses him before he speaks. He permeates the air like he owns it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your septa?”

The skin of her palm tingles with the memory of his touch; she clutches at the silken fabric of her dress, if only to smother the sudden urge to hold something between her fingers. There is a large tome in her lap, and she flicks the pages absentmindedly, determined not to look at him.

She hasn’t seen him since their escapade through the streets of King’s Landing. It is not that she avoids him—only she does, because it feels as if the line between them that she’s known all her life became blurred. She searches for its remains and finds them long shattered. There is void space in its stead that she knows not what to make of

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business, uncle?”

She hears him snort quietly. There is a rustling sound that follows, and soon Aemond’s arm is brushing against hers. It is a feather-like touch, but she freezes all the same.

He smells of smoke. Fire. Scorching flames. Her skin burns beneath the sleeve of her dress in all places he has touched.

“The Seven-Pointed Star,” Aemond reads, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. “I didn’t take you for a woman of faith.”

Slowly, a little hesitantly, she turns her face towards him. His own is perfectly neutral, but she finds a glimpse of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. She squints at him, feigning offence.

“Did you take me for a woman of sin, then?”

He doesn’t answer. She supposes it is an answer in its own right. Before she can think it through, her arm shoots forward; she elbows him in the side and smiles at the startled gasp that leaves his mouth.

It is a nice sound. Her cheeks warm.

When her eyes return to the book, she finds herself eager to continue the conversation, though whatever it is that urges her to do so remains unclear.

“Septa Marlow is under the impression that I lack virtue,” she says, voice dripping with venom. She glances at him, suddenly needing to add a rushed, “It’s a vile accusation.”

Septa Marlow is a cunt. Her mother will not say it aloud, but she knows that they both hate the woman with equal passion. The septa is stuck in her old ways, and no longer remembers youth well enough to comprehend it. Her teachings persist only for the sake of upholding etiquette, and only for as long as it’s necessary.

Not much longer. She is almost a woman grown.

Aemond chuckles. “Certainly.”

She shoots him a withering look. The corners of his lips tremble; he seems to be holding back another fit of laughter, and she narrows her eyes at the sight.

“Do you disagree?”

He faces her fully, and she can now see the scar marring his skin. It looks softer in sunlight; its edges blend with his flesh. She traces its shape and length; wanders through every inch. If she tried to touch it—to caress it with gentle fingers—would he move away? Would he give her his scorn, and his anger, and would the fire that they share turn deadly? Aemond keeps the scar out of sight for a reason. He must hate her for looking at it.

But Aemond doesn’t shy away from her gaze. He doesn’t seem to mind the way she is watching him; his body tilts towards hers, and now both their elbows and their knees touch.

He’s beautiful. It is a thought that never once crossed her mind, and yet it’s true. Sunny spells hit his face in all the right places, and the purples of his eye glow, and the sight of him steals her breath away.

When he speaks, it is closer to a whisper, as though meant for her ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dare question your virtue, sweet niece.”

Fire returns, stronger than she remembered it to be. It’s all she knows.

“Good.”

Silence befalls them again, and her eyes revert back to the tome in her hands.

They widen when nimble fingers grab the book. It is gone from her grasp before she can blink. She opens her mouth to scold him; to demand that he give it back, even though she doesn’t truly want it.

Words die on her tongue when the heavy weight of the old tome is replaced by softness in the hues of silver-whites.

Aemond’s head is in her lap.

Her heartbeat jumps.

She stares at him, and then around the yard, and then once again at him. They are sitting in a fairly private area of the yard, but she knows that they’re never truly spared from eyes that are hungry for controversy. Someone will see. Someone will see, and then talk, and soon they will become yet another spectacle for vicious tongues. Protests rise to her lips—numerous, and each of them quite rational. Surely, he will see reason.

But then he turns, and his eye reflects the sun, and she forgets what she wanted to say, or why she wanted to say it, or why it matters if they were discovered at all.

He looks so peaceful. She’s never seen an expression quite this soft on his face. There is a trace of pink on his cheek, and his lips are curved, and he eyes her with emotion she cannot fathom.

She couldn’t possibly disturb him when his face is smoothed with serenity. Just a little longer, she thinks. She wants to see him like this for a few more stolen moments.

“Go on, then,” Aemond says without a care. “Read to me.”

Her mouth is dry. She clears her throat and hopes that her face doesn’t betray her.

“My lap isn’t your spot to rest on.”

Except it is. She will not say it—she’ll never say it—but having him this close feels right. Like this, his softness is for her eyes only.

“I have just claimed it as mine.” His eye speaks in a language of pure intensity, and in response she burns. “Is it not as simple as that?”

She bites her tongue and says nothing else, and the stray strands of his hair tickle her arms. Her skin is on fire. She’s sure that her cheeks are, too.

When she reads to him, she prays that her voice does not waver.

The feast thrown on her name day is a boastful one. She weaves her way through crowds of faces she doesn’t recognise, and pleasantries fall from her lips as befitting the daughter of a royal household.

A woman grown. It seems half the realm had been eagerly waiting for her to come of age. She is mostly surrounded by men, and they all appear to be looking for excuses to touch her.

She is in search for any of her brothers, hoping for a moment of respite from the dancing. It isn’t that she dislikes it, but she has long since grown tired of foreign hands palming her body as though they owned it. She would rather dance with Jace, or even Luke whose clumsiness precedes him—or all by herself, uncaring for the crowds that wish to sink their claws into her.

Respite evades her. Just when she spots familiar heads made of brown curls, another stranger forces his way into her personal space. The man is twice her age, and she immediately finds herself repulsed by the leering expression that he cares not to veil for something more respectful.

His palms are clammy. They will surely leave stains on her skin.

The man leads her towards the centre of the hall, and his spine is straightened in a pathetic display of pride. His hands find her hips before she can protest; his grip is harsh, verging on bruising.

The dance couldn’t last longer. Her head spins from the force with which the man whirls her around, and she must steady herself by gripping his shoulders, even if the prospect disgusts her. She prays that Daemon sees them; that he comes with his sword in hand, ready to spill blood.

But it isn’t Daemon that grabs the man by the arm and sends him backwards. It isn’t Daemon that takes her hand into his own, shielding her from the eyes of the stranger.

She is at peace. Safe. Fire licks at her skin and sinks deep into her bones.

Aemond remains silent. He leads her away from the man, not sparing him a glance. As always, his hand is warm.

“Uncle.” She cannot help but grin. “It would have been more polite to wait your turn.”

He hums, quick to find the right steps. He is a good dancer. His body was made for it.

“Would you rather have him paw at you like an animal?”

She twirls, and the colours of her dress blur into a rainbow.

Aemond is a pitch-black spot against the canvas of vibrant hues. She is drawn to him; drawn to his darkness, and the violet of his eye that disrupts it. Her palm finds his, and she bites back a smile when he boldly presses his skin to hers.

It is not a dance meant for touching.

“What if I liked it?”

Once more, she spins.

They stand back to back, and her spine tingles from the proximity. He is close; too close. His scent is all she can feel.

He has corrupted her with his disregard for propriety. She knows it, because not once does she consider what their family would say if they saw them.

“Did you like it?”

Heat spreads from her back towards her chest. There are many things she has come to like, and none of them are quite related to some unnamed lords.

She could say it. Whisper every perversity her mind has conjured.

But more often than not, their short exchanges seem to be a game that none of them truly understands. She must keep playing. It is what keeps him returning for more.

She turns around to face him and shrugs. “I’m not made of glass. There is no need to handle me gently.”

There is a beat, and silence, and hands itching to touch. Suddenly, without any warning, she is pulled into Aemond’s embrace; a gasp escapes her throat when she feels his hand tighten around her waist.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her hip. He holds her firmly against his chest, and she imagines their bodies blending together into one.

There is nothing appropriate about this kind of proximity. She stands before him as a woman, and he holds her like a man would, and surely no one sees through the flames that have flared around them. This—whatever it is—belongs to them alone.

But her skin tingles.

“Uncle,” she pants, face scarlet red with something unspoken. It is not shame, but something of a darker nature. She is not yet ready to name it. “People are looking at us.”

“Let them look,” he says, and each word has his lips brushing against her ear.

They are so close that she feels his heartbeat. It is as quick as hers.

Not alone. They’re not alone.

“Aemond.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

She doesn’t. He must know that she doesn’t. There is something perverse about his hands on her body—right there, in a hall full of strangers and curious gazes. In the centre of everything. She would gladly let him hold her like this forever—until everyone in the hall understands that she is his, and it is his arms that she belongs in.

“I do,” she says instead.

In a rush of boldness, with utter disregard for her own words, she presses her chest closer to his.

She hardly knows where her body ends and his begins, and if she wanted to—oh, how she wants to—she could step onto her toes and reach towards his lips—

“You're not very convincing,” Aemond whispers into her hair, and then his hands are gone.

He leaves her amidst crowds, surrounded by dozens of onlookers, and yet she sees nothing but the lines of his shrinking silhouette.

It is hours later that she lays amidst silken bedcovers, a sheen of sweat clinging to her bared body, and furiously rubs the spot right between her legs. Her teeth are clenched, and her eyes are burning with vexation, and her hand is not enough. It’s not enough.

She is half-sprawled atop the wooden table.

Her braids have long since come undone, and her hair now cascades down her back like a shield. She plays with one of the strands, curling it around her finger. Her other hand flips the pages of whatever book she is pretending to read.

The library is quiet. It is located deep enough into Maegor’s Holdfast that she knows none of her siblings will find her. It offers the kind of solitude no other place in the Red Keep ensures. Dozens of shelves thrice her height have been installed within the walls, all filled with the oldest and rarest of volumes in the realm.

She cares not for the scent of parchment. It is not books that she came for.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A small smile creeps onto her lips.

She knew he would come. His presence no longer takes her by surprise. Everywhere she goes, Aemond dutifully follows; no longer does she need to search for him in dark corners.

He is her shadow.

Every day, she breathlessly waits for night to come.

“Aemond.”

“Niece.” His footsteps echo through the walls. “It nears the hour of the owl.”

She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and swallows the yawn that has crawled up her throat. The book is now forgotten; she pushes it away, no longer interested in keeping up the pretence of studying its contents. When she turns, she does it slowly, if only to conceal her traitorous eagerness.

It is too dark. All she sees is a mark of silver painted on pitch-black canvas. His face is shielded from her view, and she bites back the bitter disappointment. She has gone the entire day without a single glimpse of him.

“Why do you care?”

Her eyes trace the outline of his silhouette. He strides towards the chair in front of her, and though she wishes he would sit beside her instead, she appreciates the closeness all the same.

The table is too large. She should have chosen a different one.

The air grows heavier, like it always does when she is with him.

“A princess shouldn’t be spending her time alone in the darkness.”

She wishes he could see her coy smile; wonders if he would offer her one of the private smirks she now knows by heart, or if he’d playfully scold her, or throw a comment that would induce a blush in response.

“It is a good thing, then, that you’ve found me.”

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, and his voice is so guttural that she nearly melts at the sound. “It is.”

Then it is them, and silence, and darkness. It seems to have become a usual setting for their meetings, as though they required the shroud of night’s secrecy to conceal something illicit.

It isn’t wrong. Whatever it is—whatever looms above their heads—it is not wrong.

Absentmindedly, she reaches for the book; as always, he is quicker.

Their hands meet. There is nothing innocent about the touch, and she no longer desires to pretend that she is not burning. Aemond’s fingers trace the skin of her palm; tickle it, and she bites her lip at the sensation. It lasts only for a short moment—too short, never enough—and then his touch is gone, and so is the book.

She wishes he would forgo this restraint. She has long since grown tired of it.

“I was reading this,” she lies.

“Were you?”

She wants to tear the tome away from his grasp, if only for their hands to touch once more.

“No.”

“No,” Aemond repeats lowly.

If there was any light, she imagines that she’d find his eye intense and hungry; or maybe playful, betraying his endless desire to leave her breathless. He would look at her without a trace of shame, just like he always does. He would set her alight with one glance alone.

There is a thudding sound that cuts through silence. It breaks her out of reverie, and she flinches, squinting into the darkness.

Silver wisps cut through the air. Then they’re gone.

She straightens her spine, brows furrowed in confusion. It looks like he dropped the book and bent to pick it up, only she cannot see his hair. She opens her mouth, not quite understanding this particular game of his, until she feels it.

Something slithers up the skirts of her dress. Fingers wrap around her ankle, and then the other one, and suddenly her legs are forcefully parted. She gasps, and the sound echoes against the empty walls.

“Be quiet, niece,” comes Aemond’s muffled voice. “You’re in a library.”

This is madness. She cannot let it happen—cannot let him touch her like this, right there—

Aemond’s hands slide higher up her legs.

Her muscles tremble. He holds her with enough strength that she cannot escape his grip, forced to yield. Her vision swims, and there are only his hands—his hands—

He uses them skilfully. She has seen him hold a sword, and he now holds her skin with equal passion. His fingertips draw patterns down the length of her shins, and if she could—if she wasn’t possessed by a blinding desire—she would try to discern their meaning.

She feels his breath on her knee.

A small moan falls from her lips, and she clasps her hand over her mouth to cover it. It’s too late. He’s heard it.

Aemond’s grip turns vice-like.

He sears circles into her thigh. One of his hands is replaced by something softer, plushier, and she knows that it must be his lips atop her skin. He leaves fiery kisses on both her knees, and her heart gets stuck in her throat, threatening to jump out.

Higher, she thinks, and immediately bites her lip to prevent herself from begging aloud. If he moved his mouth higher—just a bit, only a bit—he would find out how much she needs him. Her desire has long since become choking. It takes a single brush of his skin against hers to get her slick and wet and ready.

Her skin is engulfed by flames. She must be touched, she must be touched—

Aemond’s lips are gone. She holds back a whimper when she feels fingertips brushing against her thigh in a parting gesture—little more than a caress, gone sooner than it came.

She closes her legs when Aemond’s head resurfaces from underneath the table.

Empty. She remains painfully empty.

“You should return to your chambers.” Aemond stands from the ground. He sounds cocky. “Who knows what lurks in the darkness.”

In the privacy of her bedchamber, she finds the mark that he left on her thigh. It is there for her eyes only. The mark haunts her, and she finds no sleep.

“I know you’re there.”

It seems that they only ever exchange words in darkness. Just today, she was seated opposite him during dinner, and he didn’t look at her once. She wonders if it is fear that holds him back in daylight. Her own fingers forever burn with the desire to hold him, and more often than not, she forgets about the reality of their relationship. Perhaps avoiding each other in the presence of others is safer. They were never meant to burn together.

Her steps halt.

“I’m beginning to think you’re looking for trouble.”

She bites back a grin. “What if I am?”

Finally, he emerges from the shadows. She looks at him without a hint of shame; traces the line of his jaw, and his nose, and the purples of his eye. His hair looks soft. She finds herself overtaken by the desire to grasp it with her fingers and tug.

“You’ve found it.”

“Have I?” she says, and her throat is oddly dry. She watches him, and he watches her, and flames arise. “You don’t look much like trouble to me.”

Aemond’s steps are slow. She has learned their pattern by heart. He has a habit of moving at a leisurely pace, and more often than not, she imagines that it’s yet another way of tormenting her. He knows of her impatience and aims to use it to his advantage.

When he stops, he is still outside of her reach. He raises an eyebrow challengingly.

“What about now?”

It is another game, and she shakes her head because she must.

Aemond hums. His eye wanders down her neck, and her skin prickles underneath his gaze. She holds her breath when he takes another step forward.

Still, he is not close enough.

“And now, niece?” Aemond asks. “Do I look like trouble?”

“No,” she breathes.

His scent wafts through the air, and she ravenously inhales it. Aemond’s eye darkens. He moves closer, and she laces her fingers together in order not to reach out for him.

Maybe she should stifle the last of self-control. Maybe she should grab him by the collar of his riding leathers; pull him as close as she needs him to be. Sometimes, it feels as though he is waiting for her to do it. To make the first move.

Before her contemplation turns into action, his fingers catch the skirts of her gown. She takes a gulp of air when he easily tugs her closer.

“No?” Aemond mutters.

He studies her mouth in silent deliberation, and it prompts her to take her bottom lip between teeth. His nostrils flare.

“No,” she repeats firmly.

His smile is pure sin.

“Good.”

Aemond’s lips claim hers before she can say anything else. Words die on her tongue, and she scarcely remembers what it was that she wanted to say at all. His skin is scorching hot, and his mouth is demanding, and when she gasps into his mouth, he swallows the sound like a man starved.

She throws her hands around his neck before he disappears; before once more he flees from her touch. He is both soft and solid, and her fingertips go alight from the fire flowing through his veins. Aemond pushes into her, and soon her spine connects with the stone wall. His hands wander over her body, tugging impatiently at the endless pieces of material that separate them.

His kisses are flames. None of her dreams have done them justice. Her tongue dances as led by his own, and her teeth graze his bottom lip, and she can no longer think straight when he whimpers into her mouth.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, and she drinks up the words straight from his tongue.

She pulls him closer, closer, and he hitches her leg over his hip, and she thinks that there is no going back from it. She will forever be cursed with the memory of his taste.

Her lips are full of him even when he’s gone.

She is a woman possessed by madness.

An entire moon has passed, and he hasn’t touched her once. It is as though he forgot that she exists; as though her existence meant nothing at all. Distance stretches between them, sharp and thorned, and it cuts through her skin with vicious force. She burns with want. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes.

When she dreams, it is of his lips. Their taste has long faded, and though she chases the memory every night, she is left with emptiness. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s dying of hunger. She must taste him again. If she won’t, she thinks she’ll wither away.

She once thought that his teasing touch was torture. It’s only now—only when it’s gone—that knows it is the lack of it that elicits true torment.

It’s been three days since she saw him last. Even their last meeting was only in brief; he was gone as soon as her eyes found him amidst crowds of the Red Keep, his steps too quick for her to catch up with.

He has left her to burn alone. Now the flames have grown wild and lethal, and she succumbs to this insanity because she must.

She stays close to the stone wall.

It is nighttime, and most of the residents have retired to their bedchambers. The corridors are empty, guarded only in a few spots; her footsteps echo through the walls, accompanied by complete silence. She appreciates the semblance of privacy that has come with sunset. It is easier to slip by unnoticed when the lights are subdued.

Less than an hour ago, she caught a glimpse of Aemond in the courtyard, sword in his hand. He looked composed as ever, and by the end of the training session his forehead was sheen with sweat. It is what brought about this madness—the sight of him panting for breath.

It’s why she follows him now. He is quick on his feet, and so quiet that she cannot even hear him. All she sees is the broadness of his shoulders and silver-white wisps resting on his back.

She moves faster, determined not to lose him. Her pace turns unrelenting; she watches Aemond reach for the gilded knob. Just before the doors close behind him, she slips inside.

His bedchamber is swallowed by darkness. It is the first thing she sees; her eyes strain, eager to scan the entirety of the room. It looks pristine. His inclination for tidiness doesn’t astound her. She now knows that he keeps all his chaos leashed, preferring to build walls of purity around himself.

She sees through it all. Knows his vices by heart.

Aemond watches her without a trace of surprise. He must have known, then, that she was hunting him down.

It is different this time. The air is thicker. They are alone, and no one can enter his bedchamber without explicit permission. He must realise it. The purple of his eye is darker, and all she finds in it is desire.

Because it is him who has this time become prey, she is the first to make a move.

“I’m here, uncle. I came to you.”

It takes only one step for their chests to come closer, now on the verge of pressing together. Aemond’s face is a perfect image of indifference, but she knows better. There is something dangerous in his eye. She must push further than this to draw it out.

Her eyes go round with feigned innocence, and his own become hooded.

She wonders if his lips still taste the same.

“Won’t you touch me?” she whispers, never letting her gaze falter.

Aemond’s face remains carved in stone. “Perhaps you should ask nicely.”

It is as though he had struck her.

A beat passes, and she knows not what to say. Her mouth is dry. Her hands itch from the constant urge to sink into his flesh.

“Ask?”

He repeats without hesitation, “Ask.”

She bites her tongue hard enough to wince.

It was foolish of her to come. He must think her desperate; corrupt, with her displayed flesh pulsating from the desire to be touched. She is wanton and wicked, and shame burns her cheeks upon the realisation.

A woman of sin.

If he wanted to, he would have touched her already. He would take her into his arms, and breathe in her scent, and bury his fingers deep in her soul. If he wanted to, all hesitation would shatter into pieces, and there would be no need to collect them anymore.

And yet his hands remain still.

She must have been wrong. So, so wrong.

With her eyes stinging, stubbornly downcast, she moves towards the door. If she leaves quickly enough, perhaps he’ll forget she was there at all. Perhaps she’ll awaken the next day and it will all turn out to have been a nightmare. Perhaps she—

Aemond’s hand clutches her forearm. His touch is gentle but firm; she can feel his fingers slither around her skin, closing his grip to prevent her from moving.

She holds her breath. All air is gone.

“Ask,” he says again, “and you shall have it.”

He pushes into her from behind, and his heat engulfs her in wild flames. Aemond’s chest presses against the length of her spine; his hair tickles her skin. She bites her lip when his nose brushes her cheek.

Her heart beats in a wild tune. Does his own match it?

It must. Surely, it must.

“Ask.”

There is something desperate about him; something in his tone that whispers in a language she knows by heart. He is half-begging. She recognises it, because he has done the same in her dreams.

She yields. Utterly. Completely.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

He does.

Aemond grabs her hips and turns her around, and all softness she has come to know him for is gone. His eye is blown wide; it burns, it burns, it burns.

The kiss is bruising. His tongue enters her mouth before she can reciprocate; her spine connects with the surface of the door, and she welcomes the chill it provides with relief. Aemond’s lips are demanding and forceful, and he gasps into her mouth when her hands finally touch his bare skin. She digs her fingers into his neck, and tugs at his hair, and pulls him closer. It is not enough. She needs their mouths to mould into one—to never separate again.

He kisses her without his past control. She gasps for air, and Aemond breathes out into her skin, refusing to let go. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and she swallows down a whimper.

His fingers find her neck. The rings that adorn them are cold.

“Here?” he pants, breathless. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

She wraps his hair around her fingers, searching for an anchor. Her head swims, and all air is gone, and if it weren’t for his grip on her hip, she would crumble to the floor. Aemond groans when she pulls at the strands in her hand; she wants to bottle the sound and keep it as hers forever.

“Yes,” she whispers into his lips.

Aemond’s hand wraps around her throat; she sees stars.

Their tongues are at war, and she matches his tempo with determination. He tastes like smoke. Like the sun. Like oxygen. His thumb comes up to stroke her cheek, and the gentleness of this touch is a stark contrast to the way he devours her. She throbs with want. Now that she has touched him, she doesn’t think she could ever stop.

She didn’t know it could feel like this.

Because she’s possessed by greed, she breathes out a quiet, needy, “More.”

Aemond’s lips part with hers, and she immediately wishes to cry out in protest.

She burns under the weight of his gaze. Without once taking his eye off hers, Aemond’s hand leaves her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. His touch is feather-like; fingers tickle her skin. She sucks in air when his hand moves lower, playing with the lace neckline. One of his fingertips sneaks beneath the fabric.

“Should I touch you here?”

His hand boldly grabs her breast. She has never been touched like this. Her mouth dries, and she pushes her chest into Aemond’s grasp, flushing at the low hum he lets out in response. His lips find a spot on her neck that has her panting, and he sucks at the sensitive skin with such ardour that she’s certain he’ll leave a mark.

She moans when his fingers find her pebbled nipple and flick against it, and the wanton sound induces hot shame. He touches her through the fabric of her dress, and it is not enough. She needs more. She needs everything.

Embarrassed, she covers her mouth with her hand.

Aemond’s eye flashes with a wicked glint.

“Here?” he asks, pinching the nipple.

The sound that escapes her throat is smothered by her palm. Desperate, suspended on the verge of madness, she nods. Aemond’s lips curve into a smile, but his fingers refuse to give in.

Their lips touch when he whispers, “Say it.”

And because she’d do anything, anything, her hand obediently falls down.

“Please.”

“How prettily you beg.”

There is a tearing sound; she watches Aemond rip the corset of her dress apart, tugging it down so that her chest is exposed. She has no time to cover herself in scarlet shame, nor to complain about him ruining her favourite gown. His mouth finds her nipple, and she cries out when he sucks at it.

She knows nothing but his tongue that swirls around the nipple in torturous circles; nothing but his teeth when he bites down. Aemond presses her body further into the door, and there is not an inch left that separates them. They are one. Her arms hold him tightly. If she lets go, she will collapse.

His lips are gone. Before she can object, Aemond slides his palms lower—between her breasts, down her waist, over the curve of her hip bone. He sinks to his knees before her, and she watches, wide-eyed and unable to move. Aemond’s hand catches the skirt of her dress and hitches it upwards, bunching the fabric so that her skin is on display. His fingers find her bare thigh, and they are quick to wrap around its width. She whimpers when he pushes her legs apart, forcing himself in between. When he puts her knee over his shoulder, holding her upright with the sheer strength of his arms, she is gone.

“You have cursed me,” he murmurs into her skin, lips nibbling at her inner thigh. “I spend my days thinking of you.”

Her mouth parts; she gasps for air, chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Aemond’s hold on her thigh tightens when she squirms in his arms.

“I spend my nights dreaming of you.”

His sinful lips traverse the expanse of her exposed skin. They move higher, higher, and her muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s too slow, and her hips involuntarily push forward, seeking his touch. Aemond cruelly holds her still. She’s convinced that he’ll leave her skin bruised; convinced that before he reaches the spot where she aches most, she will have died from this torture.

When his tongue first touches her cunt, her vision blurs.

It feels nothing like her fingers. He is skilful and hungry, and the wet muscle laps at her clit in furious motions. Moans spill from her lips, and she has long since forgotten all about propriety. It means little when Aemond’s head is buried between her thighs; when the sinful act feels this holy. All thoughts dissolve into nothing, wiped away with his expert tongue. Aemond’s grip turns vice-like. There is nothing she can do but take whatever he wants to give.

Her clit pulsates from the onslaught. He spits, and then licks up the saliva, rubbing it in between her folds, and she nearly squeals at the sensation. It’s wet and filthy, and when he moans into her cunt, sending chills down her spine, she knows she won’t last much longer.

“Aemond,” she gasps, because his name is the only thing she knows anymore. “Aemond.”

Whines fall from her lips, and she no longer cares to smother them. Her hips rock, and his mouth keeps moving against her cunt, and she can’t, she can’t—

Right there, with his wicked tongue inside her, she erupts.

It’s like a storm. A wildfire. She shatters into thousands of pieces, and Aemond dutifully collects them all, drinking up everything that she offers. Her body rocks, and he soothes her with his touch and keeps her still. Their hands are joined, though she doesn’t recall the moment when they first touched. Aemond doesn’t stop until her gasps turn into cries. Before he moves away, his lips plant one more kiss right on her oversensitive clit.

Her body trembles. Aemond pulls her down, and she allows herself to be led by his hands. His touch is strong and gentle, and she cannot quite believe that he’s real. He puts her thighs around his waist; right there, on the cold ground, she straddles his lap. Aemond’s fingers weave through her hair, and he brushes them away from her face with such gentleness that she thinks she might weep.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

For a moment, they just breathe. Their chests heave with equal fervour, and there is only silence and tender caresses. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek; she follows its shape, searing it deep into her memory. She wants to remember this. Every detail.

Aemond’s mouth glistens in the spells of moonlight. He is wet with her. Her trembling fingers collect the moisture, and when she brings them to her lips and wraps her tongue around them, he groans.

Involuntarily, her hips rock. She sees him swallow down another sound.

Not once did he demand that she touch him. Aemond is hard beneath her, and yet he stubbornly clings to the restraint she thought to be long erased.

As though he didn’t think himself deserving of her touch.

“Take it off.” Her fingers reach for the eyepatch that separates them, tugging lightly. “I will see all of you.”

He eyes her with emotion she cannot name.

There is something achingly vulnerable about him. She watches as Aemond’s trembling hand reaches for the leather strap, brushing against hers in a feather-like manner. His good eye drops to the ground beside them, and she is quick to put her palms on his face.

She wants him to see himself as she sees him. To rid himself of whatever shame clings to his soul. She wants him to know that all she finds in him is heart-wrenching beauty.

“Aemond,” she whispers. Her fingers find the clasp, and she awaits his permission.

He hesitates. His gaze is dark. She counts the seconds, prepared to let go, but his voice stops her.

“Whatever you want,” he says at last. “It is yours. It is yours.”

Just like that, the eyepatch is gone. The scar stretches from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, and although her hands are shaking, she reaches to stroke the mangled flesh.

Aemond wheezes. She catches the slightest trembling of his lips. His head drops, and for a moment she fears that he’ll move away from her, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer, as though seeking warmth. She will give it to him. She’ll give him whatever he wants.

He seems at war with himself, both touch-starved and unable to give in. But then he faces her once more. Her eyes trace the scar, and she bites back a gasp when she sees the sapphire in the place of his eye.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, because he is.

When he says nothing, she replaces her fingers with lips. She kisses every inch of the slash, and his sharp inhale is the only answer she receives. It is enough. She just needs him to know that she wants him as he is.

Aemond’s arms wrap around her waist, and it is enough. It’s everything she wants.

“I dream of you,” he tells her. “Of this.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to pour her heart out—to confess the lengths of her own desire, and the way it has rendered her mad. But Aemond grabs her hips, breaking them out of tranquility, and pulls the dress up so that it no longer sets them apart. She sees questions in his eye, though she doesn’t understand why he feels the need to ask them. Surely, he knows how deep the roots of her want go.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the laces of his leathers. It is enough of an answer; Aemond’s face softens, and then their lips collide again.

There are so many layers between them. Too many. She claws at his shirt, and he tears the last shreds of her bodice, and then they are skin to skin. She touches every single part of him, learning his shapes and curves. His body is toned, and his skin bears multiple small scars that must have come from a sword, and he is soft. Warm. Hers.

Aemond’s fingers find her entrance. She is slick for him—aching, pulsating, dripping. He circles her clit and swallows her moan, and then he is knuckle-deep inside her.

“Please,” she whines, though she knows not what she’s begging for.

His finger thrusts, and then it curls, touching a spot she never knew existed. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Aemond attaches his lips to her throat.

Release comes in waves, quicker than the previous one. It crashes into her body with full force, and she is helpless against the currents. Before she comes down, Aemond lifts her up and buries his cock in her cunt.

It hurts. It hurts, and he holds her close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Aemond is patient with her. He peppers her face with kisses, sighing into her skin, and stills his movements. The stretch burns, and she cannot help but clench around him. Her hips move on their own accord; her body chases what it inherently wants.

There is tenderness in his eye. It’s enough for her body to melt.

Aemond grunts and pushes deeper into her. The pace is slow, agonising, and she cannot take it. Her muscles spasm beneath his hands; she is completely at his mercy, waiting for each thrust. She tugs at his hair and whispers into his ear, demanding that he fuck her properly.

Time stills. Her clit throbs, and she aims to seek relief with her own fingers, but then Aemond pulls her hand away. The hunger in his eye has turned dangerous. It’s more black than purple.

“As you wish.”

She whimpers when he grabs her by the thighs and moves her body away from the door. He pushes her into the ground, spreading her dress beneath her back to soften the surface, and climbs atop her. His moves are frantic, and there is a glow on his features that must reflect her own. His hair tickles her face. She gives him a beaming smile, and his breath hitches.

His cock drives into her, and at the same moment his sinful fingers find her clit. She cries out. Her eyes roll back, and she tries to close her legs, trembling from the onslaught of pleasure. Aemond grabs her knees and holds them apart. Her dripping cunt is on full display; she sees him watch the place where they’re connected, his lips swollen and eyes glazed over. Aemond rubs her clit and thrust into her like a madman, and the bedchamber is bathed in sounds of clapping skin and wanton moans.

She makes no sound when she peaks. Her mouth falls open as she convulses beneath him, and Aemond pushes his fingers down her throat.

“One more,” he grunts. “Give me one more.”

Her body trembles. She can’t. No more, no more—

But Aemond’s torturous fingers keep flicking against her nub, and his rock-hard length twitches deep inside her, and she can’t stop. She can’t stop.

She is boneless. Her spine arches, and Aemond topples over her chest, and their orgasms come at once. They’re amidst clouds, suspended in the air; above turbulent waters; high enough to be scorched by the sun.

They burn. Together, they burn.

Their hearts beat in the same tune. Aemond puts his hand on her chest, in the hollow between her breasts, and she weaves her fingers into his hair. When he looks at her, all she sees is scorching affection.

He stays buried inside her, as though equally reluctant to let their bodies part. Purple and sapphire glow in the dark, and she watches him, breathless and enthralled, unable to look away.

“I have claimed you,” he whispers into the night.

Her eyes are soft. With her fingertips, she writes letters down the length of his spine. She knows the words, though for now they remain invisible to the eye. Aemond looks at her with awe, hands still warm against her cheeks as he holds her. She wishes she could hear his thoughts. Wonders if she’d find remorse and guilt, and the desire to turn back time.

There is no regret in her heart. This—their bodies woven into one—was fated. His first touch planted a seed inside her, and its destiny was to bloom.

“Then I’m yours.”

His hands find hers, and there is only fire.

[hunnylagoon]

The Girl That Time Forgot

Ellie Williams x Reader

Find me in one thousand years, I will always be waiting here.

Premise: Ellie is the only time traveller who uses her uncommon gift to rewind time and constantly pester you-the only immortal who made a deal with death in 412 BC and is cursed to walk the earth for all eternity. Forever was promised but you never knew the price.

Warnings: death / murder / mentions of suicide / self-harm / toxic relationship /sickness / violence / angst / war / mentions of drugs / lovers?friends(ish)?enemies? it’s complicated / mild gore / things get nuts

ONE-SHOT | WC 18k (so you know what you’re getting into)

AID PALESTINE!

Athens, Greece- October- 412 BC

Come back in one hundred years, you'll always find me here.

Rain splashes against the skin of your face in lands of ancient Greece, where the winds themselves whispered stories of gods and heroes, neither of which you were. You were nothing more than a frightened woman running away from an unforgiving husband in the dead of night where your quickened heartbeat falls in rhythm to the ocean which is almost as angry as the storm that roars above.

Carefully you dodge the jagged rocks sticking out from the sand, you had memorized each and every one after days of burning your skin on the shores. Water surged against the rocks near your feet, white froth sizzling in the waves retreating like it was trying to drag you in and take you for its own.

Your heavy breathing was devoured by the heavy rain and cracks of lighting, the sounds of thunder so deep it was like Zeus himself was stomping in the clouds. Despite the night being dark you trusted the moonlight that glimmered off of the ocean to guide you. You have nothing more than the soaking wet clothes on your back, jewelry to sell, and the drachmas you had stolen from your husband tucked away safely in a wool tagari purse.

Someone grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks "Hey!" They say, though you can't quite make out the figure in the dark you know it's a woman from the voice alone. "You need to go home." Fear pushes adrenaline to course through your veins at the sound of an unheard tongue babbling in your ears.

Your eyebrows furrow, clutching the bag even harder in your free hand. "Φύγε από μένα!" You scream, trying to force your voice to be louder than the malicious storm that brews over your head. You try to pull your hand away but the woman stands firm hardly even moving.

"Fuck," She mutters, you don't understand a word. In this moment you feel like a rabbit preparing to get devoured by a wolf, whoever this woman was you were shaken to your core like you had just uncovered a dead body. "I forgot that you can't speak English yet."

You struggle under the grip of the woman, using the hand which was holding tightly onto the tagari and begin to hit the woman before you to pry her off your wrist "Δεν θα πάω πίσω, τον μισώ μέχρι θανάτου!" You shout voice loud as thunder.

"Ow!" She said wrinkling her nose and trying to apprehend the hand that was hitting her "Can you stop?" She asks, even though you can't understand her it's worth a shot in her mind.

This does nothing to stop your protest, you only hit her harder hammering your purse against her head until she finally lets go of your wrist to block your swinging. Lighting cracks and just for a moment you catch a glimpse of her. Short brown hair that falls at her shoulders, and freckles across her face, something you had never seen before. What frightened you wasn't the sharpness of her green eyes but her clothes, an alien concept to you. She didn't wear a tunic but a scratchy blue fabric tight on her legs and what to you resembled a baggy grey burlap sack with a piece of cloth hanging off the back. In recent years it has come to be known as jeans and a hoodie.

"Δαίμονα, μάγισσα, φύγε!" You smack her once more for good measure and turn quickly on your sandal-covered heel to get away from her. You were as wild and untamed as the ocean itself, with eyes that sparkled with a craving for more than honey dripping down your tongue and salt smeared across your lips.

"Remember I tried to help you this time!" She shouts, her voice is so far off in the distance that you barely heard it through the storm. Even if her words were clear it made no difference, you didn't speak her tongue, and any warning fell unheard upon your ears "Have fun being twenty forever!"

You ran even faster than you had before, you didn't even turn around to see if the woman was still on your tail.

The salty spray stung your cheeks as you ran, your breath ragged and steps unsteady. The wind howled in protest, whipping at the wet hair that stuck to your face and neck, tearing at your white peplos, turned translucent on your body by the water. But you paid no heed to the fury of the elements, for you were driven by a desperate need to escape.

As you reached the edge of a rocky outcrop, your leather sandal caught on a slick stone, sending you tumbling to the ground. With a sickening thud, your head struck against the unforgiving rock, and the world around you spun into darkness.

You were dead. Body limp on the plethora of rocks, the tide slowly lulling over your body until it swallowed you whole and sucked you in deeper. Ropes of hair twist before your dull eyes, unmoving into the deep.

You sink further in and open your eyes though you are still deceased, your body still falling cold. Selene stands before you in the form of midnight. Her body was ebony and deep blue, half woman, half moon. Long black hair like ink tipped with moonlight spills down her breasts and her hips, she watches you with her pale eyes imploring.

The goddess before you turns to lead the way, enticing you to follow. Each step sends knives through your limbs. Your mouth tastes like blood and your lungs burn red hot though every time you try to breathe you choke and sputter of nothing, still, you follow Selene into the nothingness ahead.

Finally, she turns, one finger pressed to her lips, signalling you to be quiet. Beside her, a pale soldier appears in fine silver armour chiselled against his muscular body. The areas that the armour does not cover, his arms and an area of his legs between the middle of his thighs to just below his knees, tattered bandages hang around his limbs, They sway in the nothingness and shed by themselves. You see open wounds deep and red, beginning to bleed but his pasty skin sews itself up, leaving no scar behind, nothing but smooth flesh. Wings larger than the man himself sprout from his back. Thanatos.

Thanatos bows his head, hiding his deep sunken eyes beneath a Corinthian helmet. You should be afraid that you face the god of death but you aren't. This is a better fate than being hauled back to your husband.

He takes his helmet off, long dark hair falls onto his shoulders and he regards you. Thanatos is wordless as he stares at you, taking in every of your face, every curve of your body. He doesn't speak but you understand him well, too much beauty to go to waste.

Selene has left you to take her place back in the night sky, she watches you were she hangs on a beam of moonlight. In one hand Thanatos holds a silver knife. Your voice betrays you, for once your loud screeching voice is lost.

He holds out his hand, pitch black at the fingertips. You can tell he is trying to strike a deal as if he had put his words into your mind without ever even moving his lips.

You look at his hand and then at his face, death was less frightening than you had imagined, handsome for a god who took so many lives. He lets his offer sit and settle within you, he doesn't try to sweeten the deal, he offers you another chance and that is that.

The second you shake Death's hand, he pulls away from your grip and takes the silver dagger to your heart. With ease, he slices back layers of flesh in one swoop leaving your bones exposed before him. Using what seemed to be little effort for the god of death, he breaks your ribs and pulls out your heart.

You watch it beat in his hand, the blood drifting out of it like ribbons that hook around your limbs, you know you have made a mistake. For the first time, Thanatos smiles. Oh, how the wolf wore the sheep as a wicked disguise. he squeezes the heart and at the crush of his hand, you feel ice shoot through your veins.

Your eyes open, properly open. You were alone. You wake up in nothing more than a metre of water and immediately cry out in pure terror at the horrifying images that your mind has conjured up. You run through the salty ocean and back to the shore.

The storm hadn't subsided which helped to camouflage your sobs as you frantically felt around your body with shaking hands to be sure that the god of death hadn't ripped out your heart. Surely enough, your rib cage was intact. You fall onto your hands and knees heaving up all of the ocean water you had swallowed.

The purse that held your resources for escaping had either been devoured by the ocean or stolen off your body. Your wirey hands touch the back of your hand, you expect to shudder under the pain of the open wound that knocked you unconscious. Instead of pain shooting from a gash in your head, you are perfectly intact.

You look down at your hands, no trace of blood.

Maybe it was time to start believing in myths because you were in one.

Rome - July- 116 AD

Don't they know it's the end of the world?

At the center of the world, you had been buried alive for three years after switching places with a Vestal Virgin who looked remarkably identical to you in exchange you gained a large sum for your alleged death. When you were buried you hadn't thought much about how you would get out, you just knew that you wouldn't suffocate or starve.

After the second year passed you were beginning to think that offering to get enclosed in a stone tomb with bread, water, oil, a candle, and a bed wasn't a great way to live your abnormally long life. The air grew stale, and the silence of the tomb echoed with the whispers of the dead that surrounded you on all four walls.

Before sleeping every single night, you prayed to the gods to take your life but they never listened. What you once thought to be a blessing had turned out to be a curse, no blessing would make you crave death the same way you craved sunlight and cream. You had given away the gift of aging for a sweet pleasure that quickly became bitter on your tongue.

The first few moons after you had slipped into unconsciousness you truly believed it at all been some strange hallucination caused by smacking your dead until you took a steep tumble and fell on your husband's hunting knife only to pull it out of your body and watch the skin over your stomach fix itself up, leaving no evidence behind that it had ever happened aside from the blood on the knife.

All you know to do is survive.

It's not like you hadn't tried to find a way out of it, some loophole that would shatter the deal and set you free. You had 527 years to try and make some sense of it, but you had given up and resorted to trying to find a way to end your life. Every time you did that, Ellie always showed up to help but you were back together.

You didn't understand the words that came from her mouth, all you knew was that her name was Ellie and she was cursed like you. What was she cursed with? You weren't sure but she seemed a little less miserable with you.

Ellie would come into your life now and then, usually an unwelcome surprise, she always knew where to find you. The only consistent face that you've seen for 527 years. She seemed to know more about you than you knew about her.

Overhead of the tomb, you see a crack of light slip through one of the stones that sealed you in. A tremor shook the earth, and the ancient stones of the tomb began to crumble. Light spilled into the darkness as the walls collapsed around you.

Surely enough Ellie's head looked down at you. She smiles and extends a hand to help you out "Sorry I took so long, I had to time it right with the earthquake, you picked poor timing to get buried alive." She hauled you up, and you stepped over the rubble with bare feet, careless of whether you gut them on the freshly shattered stone or not, you knew that they would heal over regardless.

Despite still not understanding her tongue you were for a change, glad to see her. As you suspected, your feet had been sliced up, leading a little trickle of blood in your wake. The moment you reached the surface, you collapsed to the ground. The city was crumbling around you but they were the ones who locked you away in the first place. You ignored Ellie's unknown words and felt the lush grass for the first time in three years, the heat of the sun resting on your skin.

Beside you, Ellie wrinkles her nose. "You've definitely smelled better," This is one of the times when she dresses appropriately for the era, a toga slung around her toned figure. "Oh, I thought you might be hungry so I brought this, I know you don't have to eat but I figured it would be nice," She unfolded a piece of cloth beside her revealing a small stack of round pastries that had little brown dark spots in it, nothing you had seen before.

You furrow your eyebrows, partly in confusion, partly because your eyes were still adjusting to the light after being enclosed in darkness for three years. "Τι κοιτάζω;"

"They aren't bad I promise," She says, she had made an effort to learn Greek for you but it proved too difficult, all she knew was the odd word. "They're cookies and don't tell anyone because I'm pretty sure they don't get invented for six hundred years."

Ellie speaks freely like you comprehend every word that she says. You make a face that almost resembles a snarl as you eye her and the cookies suspiciously.

"In a few more centuries we're cool with each other," She eats one of the cookies, slowly taking a bite to show you that they were edible. The cookies are a little too good however and she eats the entire thing in mere seconds, speaking through a mouth full of crumbs "Maybe more than a few centuries," She corrects herself "It's like a thousand years and then some but you come around."

She looks once more at the confusion on your face and gives up on trying to verbally communicate, instead she just holds the cloth holding the chocolate chip cookies towards you and looking into her eyes as sharp as a wolf, you hesitantly take one.

Norwich, England- November- 1327

I can't take my eyes of you.

In the dimly lit streets of the town, where the stench of death hung heavy in the air and fear gripped the hearts of its inhabitants. People no longer walked freely around town, they were either sick and on the trek to become puss-filled corpses or they locked themselves away and observed the demise of friends and foes from their windows.

You had seen civilizations rise and fall and witnessed the ebb and flow of history itself, but nothing could have prepared you for the horror that awaited you in the plague-ridden streets of the town. As the death toll rose with each passing day, you donned the garb of a plague doctor, your face concealed behind a grotesque mask adorned with beak-like protrusions filled with aromatic herbs that helped to cover the sickly sweet smell of rotten corpses.

Armed with little more than your knowledge of ancient remedies and a desperate desire to ease the suffering of the afflicted, you ventured into the heart of the epidemic, where the sick lay writhing in agony and the cries of the dying echoed through the night like they were eating themselves alive.

"Jeez, this isn't good," Ellie appears beside you, out of thin air like she tended to do. Now she was wearing a green dress, long bell sleeves and a golden trim around the dress, she wore a white vale pushing her hair back. Though she was dressed for the time period she looked out of place in the garb of a noblewoman, surrounded by the sick and dying peasants. "I can't stick around too long because an official vaccine for the bubonic plague isn't developed until 2072."

"How many people will die from this?" You ask, voice somewhat muffled from the leather mask, stuffed with herbs.

"About fifty," She trails off "Million."

You were not a god's chosen but a god's cursed. You had already suspected her to say something along those lines. Your voice failed as you watched the searchers who had been employed by the city, dragging dead bodies off into a pit to be buried in a mass grave.

"Look on the bright side-

"There is no bright side," You turn to walk away from her, shoving Ellie into the back of your mind.

With each patient you tended to, you felt the weight of your immortality pressing down upon her—a burden too heavy to carry, yet one you could not escape. You watched as the plague consumed the bodies and souls of those around you, leaving nothing but death and apathy in its wake, a dream that this would be over soon.

Immortality was a mockery, you thought yourself to be a spectacle to the gods above, nothing more than cruel entertainment. As much as you run, you get nowhere, you always end up in the same place, watching those you developed bonds and memories with die.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you fought tirelessly against the tide of death, your resolve unyielding even in the face of overwhelming odds. But with each passing day, her heart grew heavier, burdened by the weight of countless lives lost and the knowledge that she alone would bear witness to their suffering for eternity.

A boy on his porch cries for his mom and dad who will never be coming home, his sobs echo through the narrow streets like a wolf's howl.

As the moon cast its ghostly glow upon the desolate streets, you stood amidst a sea of bodies, your gloved hands stained with the blood of the fallen. The plague had taken its toll, claiming the lives of all those you had sworn to protect, leaving you alone in a world consumed by darkness.

Henry, a stonemason who had no family aside from his little brother now cries over his body. Sam, the young boy had been hit hard with the disease, the sores covered almost every inch of his body and turned black upon his ebony skin. You had watched every stage of his sickness, there was no cure other than comfort, the only thing you couldn't offer to Henry at that moment.

You could turn the brothers into poetry but you couldn't offer up the immortality that you carried like a cross you had to bear.

He held Sam's corpse in his arms, hugging him close and sobbing. Henry was freshly infected there was no way he would make it out alive though you weren't sure that he even wanted to after watching his baby brother's hands turn pitch black and seize up.

How strange that you, someone who was not deserving of eternal life, was the one burdened with it. People are dying and you can't get a grip.

With a heavy heart and tear-streaked face, you cast aside her mask, the symbol of your futile efforts to defy the inevitable. For in that moment, you realized that no amount of healing could undo the damage wrought by the plague, and no amount of compassion could ease the pain of those who had been lost.

You turned your back on the town that had become your prison, the echoes of its suffering fading into the night. For though you were immortal, you were not invincible—bound by the chains of your own existence, condemned to wander the earth as a silent witness to the fleeting moments of life and the relentless march of death.

Salem, America- April- 1692

Immortal she, return to me.

The paranoid colonial Massachusetts was not the place for a woman who never ages. You grew careless of covering up your secret and lived on the outskirts of Salem, seen by few but that didn't aid the treacherous rumours whispered about you.

You had been there when they settled in 1626 and hadn't aged a day from the time you settled. This had spread into rumours of you dancing with the devil, practicing witchcraft, and bewitching townspeople.

Though many denied your existence, all fingers pointed towards you when two young cousins began acting erratically and were given the diagnosis of being under an evil hand.

The courtroom was a hallowed chamber of unjust judgment, where the accused stood trial before the watchful eyes of the magistrate and the hushed voices of the gathered crowd. You stood, with your hands bound and your head held high, faced your accusers with a steely resolve, eyes burning with a fire that refused to be extinguished.

As the trial unfolded, it became clear that justice was but a mere facade—a thin veil masking the insidious machinations of those who sought to rid the town of its perceived evils. Witnesses were coerced, evidence fabricated, and lies spun like silk until the truth became little more than a distant memory lost to paranoia and skepticism. In the crowd, mixed in with the townspeople, you saw Ellie.

Her steady gaze on you was unmoving and ever-focused, a small smile played on her lips while she watched you face the accusations, anger simmering deep inside you like a curse.

Despite protestations of innocence, you were found guilty of witchcraft—a verdict as unjust as it was inevitable. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you were led to the gallows, where the noose awaited you like a taunt.

You had still been bound by your hands in front of your grime-covered dress from being imprisoned in a dark cellar for a month which felt like mere hours in your lifespan.

A man named David, one of the wealthiest residents of Salem and the first to seek warrants against the accused innocent aided you into stepping onto the back of a cart. The crowd surrounding you cheered while a church member slipped the noose tied to a tree around your neck.

"Hang the witch!" Ellie shouts and you lock eyes with her, feeling nothing more than bitterness and resentment. She still seems unfazed and somewhat amused like she's seen this a thousand times, she likely has. You know she had already watched you 'die' over and over again, Ellie was desensitized to it.

"Hang her!" Another man yells, following Ellie's act in tow. They scream all around you, jeering for your death which would never come. David and the churchman step off the wagon and the crowd gets even louder, anticipating a broken neck and lifeless eyes. David gave a command and the horses pulling the wagon were off, leaving your feet to flail helplessly over nothing.

Even as the rope tightened around your neck and the crowd jeered and spat their curses. Though you couldn't die the pain of the rope restricting your breathing still ran you ragged. For just a brief moment you pretend to die, and those around you cheer. There is so little hesitation in their voices, they were glad to see you dead.

You begin to thrash around, kicking your feet. When the townspeople realized you weren't deceased their cheers of victory fell into silence as you coughed and sputtered on the build-up of saliva and blood choking you. An eery silence falls upon the land while they watch in horror, waiting for you to die. Ellie bites back a smile from where she watches you. You bring your hands, bound together by the wrist to reach up and grab the rope that you hung by. Gathering all the force you can you yank it harshly, over and over again until it finally snaps and you fall to the ground.

David's face falls completely. You had known him to not truly believe in witchcraft but the murder of innocents and threatening women. The look in his eyes when he saw you stumble to your feet. "Witch!"

"Ay, I am the witch!" You shout, the townfolk backing away. You slip your hand where the rope strangled your bent neck, the moment the noose comes loose you pull it off over your head, holding it in one hand. In only seconds the broken bones in your neck heal and you bring your head up, chain raised tall, the wound where the rope dug into your neck disappearing "I am older than your oldest god, I am more ancient than the winds, and more sacred than your cross." You say, only to frighten them.

"Kill her!" David shouts to which no one answers, they are either running or frozen in terror, saving themselves before anyone else.

David isn't fast enough to run, you grab him by his hair and drag his struggling body back beneath the tree where he had hung you. In the blue hour of the day, you hooked the severed noose around his neck and began to walk, dragging his trashing body back to your home on the outskirts of the town. David's body eventually fell limp, still, you dragged it over the rocks and lumps of cobblestone. You had succeeded in making him as afraid of you as you were of him.

You were the first woman who hung in the trials, far from the last. "Headed west now?" Ellie asks, walking beside you, utterly unfazed by what she just witnessed.

Boston, America- March- 1770

In the darkness I will meet my creators, they will all agree that I'm a suffocator.

In the cobblestone streets of colonial Boston, where the talks of revolution were murmured, propaganda poured. There you resided, someone once worshipped as a god whose true name had long been forgotten by history.

But amidst the fervour of the American colonies on the brink of rebellion, you found yourself drawn to the heart of the struggle after the church bells had been rung sending confused people onto the streets covered with snow and out of their homes.

It was on the night of March 5, 1770, that tragedy struck with a swift and merciless hand where a pull of a trigger would be written into history textbooks—the night of the Boston Massacre. As tensions between the colonists and the British soldiers reached a boiling point, you stood amidst the thronging crowd.

The air crackled with tension as the soldiers, emboldened by their orders to maintain order at all costs, faced off against the angry mob, assaulting them with snowballs, chunks of ice and oyster shells for hours on end. With shouts and hollers ringing through the night, protesting the raise of tax brought by King George.

Before the rage-filled crowd stand nine English soldiers holding their ground while the mob grows more and more impatient. This had started when a wig maker apprentice got in a spat with a private stationed outside of the customs house who in turn clobbered the boy with his musket.

The eight soldiers and the captain endure the jeers of the crowd led by Crispus Attucks. The Captain, Preston, refused to fire upon the crowd though as he commanded them from the front, in the line of fire.

You push your way up through the crowd, interweaving through hundreds of people. You watch the nine men stand tall against the sea of angry colonials. One of the men is hit hard in the head with a jagged rock, he falls back to the ground his musket clattering neck to him, just then, behind them in the darkness shouts a voice "Fire!"

With little to no hesitation, the man who fell over quickly scuttles to his feet, firing into the darkness of the evening. Then, in an instant that seemed to stretch into eternity, the first shot rang out—a deafening explosion that shattered the silence of the night and sent shockwaves rippling through the crowd. The other men follow, firing a volley one at a time. Beside you, you hear the thuds of heavy bodies hitting the ground, you don't have much time to process it before a bullet lands right in your head, the bullet finds its mark, striking you down with a force that seems to rend your immortal body asunder.

For a moment, time stood still—the world around you spinning in a dizzying blur of pain and confusion. "Hault!" Preston the captain orders, the soldiers cease fire at his command, confused as they believed him to be the one who ordered fire.

You used the rising surge of anger and fear emanating from the people around you to disappear into the crowd. Men grew even more angry at this, some dispersed but many stayed put. There were only a few women in a horde of hundred, it was difficult to go unnoticed with a bleeding gash on your head, you looked more monster than human, skin on your face replaced by a mass of flesh and blood. You brought your hands up to rest on the top of your head, arms out in front of you to cover what was once your face so your already scared neighbours wouldn't see a breathing corpse.

You stumbled around on your feet, pushing yourself through the mass of people, all moving in your opposite direction, making it harder for you to keep your head down. "Is something wrong?" A woman asks, you disregard her, shoving her away from you to keep moving. Your head rang with a high-pitched whistling, echoing through your brain, and you could hardly see straight with the one eye you now had, eyesight fuzzy. Each person ahead of you blurred into the next, blood gushing down your face, so much that it trickled into your eye and tinted your vision.

The wound wasn't clean by any means, not a neat through and through. The gunshot had got you right up the cheek and into your forehead, half of your face entirely blown off. The close impact of the shot caused your right eye to burst, you were scrambling away with no face and one eye.

Already you could feel your body working to put itself back together, still blood flowed down from the horror that was your face, down your neck to soak into your stay and your once grey skirts. You leave a trail of blood in your wake, dripping into the snow that is sure to be found my morning.

At last, you finally pass the crowd, though you don't stop. You stumble into the dark streets, running until you tumble on cobblestones slick with snow and slush, eyesight heavily impaired. "You've seen prettier deaths," Ellie sucks a breath through her teeth, she isn't in the dress that a woman would wear in that decade, instead, she's clad in a red coat, the uniform of a British soldier, her hair tied up and tucked beneath a black cap that all of the soldiers adorned.

She stretches her hand out to help, you take it. Instead of being gracious that she came around to help you off the ground, you take a swing at her face, and when your face makes contact with her cheek you hear a crack. Ellie takes a step back, shocked as you haven't hit her since the night you first met, 2181 years prior to that moment. "Why would you scream fire?" You cry. The second you heard the voice, you knew it was Ellie though you hadn't had time to process it before your face was blown off. "Those men are dead, Ellie, they will never go home to their families or take another breath!"

"They die anyway," She retorts, one hand hovering over her now broken cheekbone. You look at her now, your skull re-intact, eyeball sewn itself up and found its place back in your socket, flesh weaves and stretches over your bones to its rightful place. "Fuck," Ellie mutters, wincing as she touches to fingers to her newfound injury "The second that soldier gets hit with that rock, he gets back up and starts shooting, every single time."

You freeze "Every single time?" The very moment the words fall from your lips, Ellie curses herself "How many times have you been here, on this day?"

"Maybe like," She raises an arm in defence the other still cradling her cheek as she winces"Thirty-seven times give or take."

"You've never stopped it?"

"I have," She says, eyebrows furrowing with a certain longing "It ruins everything, if those men don't die, the American revolution never takes place." Ellie's gaze softens "I know that it's awful but it happens whether you're here or not, it was meant to happen."

Ellie reaches out to hold one of your blood-covered hands, but you are quick to retract it, pulling it away. Your eyes move from where her hand waits for yours to intertwine with it to her freckled face. "How many lives have we lived together?"

Her outstretched hand falls to her side. "I don't want to answer that."

"I want to know."

She shakes her head "You'd hate me."

"I already hate you," Your mouth acting faster than your head.

Ellie doesn't seem shocked by this statement, just a little hurt. "We've had good lives together, you don't hate me every time."

"Who have I been to you?" You ask, new questions surging through your scrambled mind, questions you were sure you wouldn't like the answer to. You knew Ellie had the ability to jump between time periods, though you hadn't known that she'd met you in other timelines.

Looking deep into her downturned eyes your mind runs rampant with who you could've been to her in other timelines that defined what you meant to her now. It was like trying to recall memories that didn't belong to you, but another version of yourself- what could've been.

The hushed silence finally dissipates when Ellie opens her mouth again "I'll see you in a hundred years." With that, she turns and walks away into the darkness, her body shrouded by the cold night where screams of the freshly dead hang in the winds like sickening howls.

Nebraska, America - June - 1883

I'll be seeing you.

"Not a bad place to camp, huh?" Tommy smiles at us while the sun blazes overhead, the group disregards him as they set up camp in a grassy clearing with just enough trees to offer shade to the overworked horses. Few pitched tents while the majority prepared for a night of sleeping under the clear sky, unprotected from the elements.

His question falls upon deaf ears "What's in Montana?" Another man, Issac asks. "We're going all this way and I want to know what I've uprooted my life for."

"Untouched land, you'll be a rich man." Tommy takes the cowboy hat off the top of his head, using it to fan himself off, protesting the sweltering heat that devoured him whole beneath layers.

You eye him, unsaddling your horse, Shimmer. You were in a group of people headed to settle in Montana, many of whom you had never spoken to and didn't necessarily want to. The only ones who you had properly known were the Miller family, Maria had been the one who told you about the trip initially, telling you they needed more gunslingers. With a face that doesn't age, a decade was getting a little too long to stay in Cody and here was your offer to get away.

Joel was speaking in hushed tones to his daughter, Sarah. She was nodding along to each word her father said, you had guessed it was a set of rules, him telling her not to run off or chase down wild animals.

You shower your sweaty chestnut horse with little pats and scratches, and she gives you a snort in response as you begin to wipe away the grime she's accumulated over the day's journey. Your entire life was packed away into two saddle bags, there wasn't much room for luxury in the Wild West. Times were harsh and lands were rugged, more commonly violent than anything you'd ever seen.

As you move in front of Shimmer to pet her soft face, she sneezes on you, reverberating on the rubber lips. You scrunch up your nose, and bring your sleeve to wipe your face "You're lucky you're cute," You mutter, hearing the sound of giggling and looking to find Sarah "Hey little lady."

"Hi," Her accent was thick, she came straight from the heart of Texas. Sarah was still young, the things you knew about her dad were only what she had told you, oversharing their personal life.

"Leave her alone now," Joel walks up behind Sarah, her wide eyes looking up at him.

"I don't mind, Joel," You answer. "I saw some sour cherries by the river if you care to come pick 'em with me," You say looking at Sarah whose head immediately shoots to her dad "As long as your father says it's okay."

Sarah silently pleads with her daughter, his gaze is still cold like steel. "Maybe tomorrow," He answers and Sarah's face drops. Despite knowing the Millers for months, Joel was always iffy about letting Sarah out of his sight. He knew almost as well as you how vile the world was, especially to young girls.

"Maybe tomorrow," You repeat Joel's words, digging around in your saddlebags for a small wicker basket and cloth to spread out at the bottom "I'll see y'all around," You give the pair a nod before heading down the bank.

The walk was quick and scenic if you ignored the overwhelming heat and the entirely too many layers you were sweltering beneath. You closed your eyes and let your spirit lift with the sounds of rustly grass and the flowing river nearby. The air was thick with the sweet smell of wildflowers mixed with an earthy bitterness from the ground beneath your feet.

You walked towards the tree, carefully plucking ripe cherries. They reminded you of the same ones you once picked back in Greece, as you ate them the juice smeared down your lips you laughed with your sibling, pretending that you had been blood drinkers or angry gods drinking the wine that was poured for them.

You often find solace in reminiscing over all of the people you have been in the span of one lifetime. You've been a wife, doctor, witch, god, poet, farmer, handmaiden, dressmaker, priestess, and now you were just a woman picking cherries and planning out her next facade. What awaited you in Montana? Hopefully somewhere peaceful, a cabin by a stream where you could live alone and lay outside in a grassy meadow, waiting for the sun to swallow you whole.

After filling the wicker basket, almost to the brim with small sour cherries, a little larger than the end of your thumb. You turn to walk back to the campsite, though you pause at the incline of the riverbank and decide against it, instead, you find yourself sitting under the shade of the cherry tree, staring to the other side of the riverbank.

You thought that you could've spent the rest of eternity under that cherry tree where you listen to the songs the earth sings for you. Here, the air is clean. The river itself was a sight to behold, a ribbon of shimmering blue that wound its way through the landscape, its waters sparkling in the sunlight like a thousand diamonds. Here and there, small ripples danced across the surface, creating patterns of light and shadow that played upon the sandy riverbed below.

Someone sits next to you, you can sense them awkwardly shuffling around to try and get comfy, from that alone you knew it was Ellie. "Hi, it's been a while," You say, voice quiet.

"Hey," She takes a cherry out of the wicker basket beside you, she bites into it, juice dribbling down her chin, nose scrunches when the sour taste hits her tongue. "Fuck, that's sour."

"They're supposed to be, they're sour cherries," You look at her face to see a large dark bruise engulfing one of her cheekbones, it spreads under her puffy eye bag, giving her a real shiner over her eyelid. "What happened to your face?"

"You," She says, pressing her lips together "After the Boston massacre you hit me pretty hard, remember?"

Your eyebrows furrow "That was more than a hundred years ago."

"For you," She corrects "It's been a little under a week for me."

Your gaze shifts to the glimmering river in front of you "That must be nice," That familiar sense of bitterness set in once again, the reason why you could never stomach being around Ellie for too long. She could blip in and out of your life as she wanted but you were the one forced to sit through thousands of years of torment and longing for the sweet release of death that taunted you in mirrors and the eyes of those who thought they knew you well.

She falls short of words to say. In your eyes it was nice, in her eyes, she faced the woman whom she had married in another life who held nothing more than a little resentment for her now.

"I am sorry that I hit you," You mutter, spitting out the pit of a cherry beside you. "You did cheer for the colonials to hang me though."

"And I am sorry about that," Ellie rolls the stem of a cherry between her fingers, more focused on it than any of her beautiful surroundings. She had seen every bit of scenery that there was to see, her favourite was seeing the dinosaurs, they were much more scary in person than they had been "At least you're an urban legend now."

"What's it matter to be an urban legend when you've already been a god?" You say "It just does not get more interesting than that."

"Yeah, watching you eat your own heart in front of terrified ancestors was pretty cool." Ellie flicks the cherry stem into the river, watching it get swallowed and pulled away by the currents "I'm glad you aren't still mad at me, if I were you I'd probably have a knife to my throat by now."

"I think I'm finally getting wise after two thousand three hundred four years," You joke, digging your teeth into the flesh of another cherry.

"What? You don't look a day over one thousand," She teases, a smile ever so slightly playing on her face.

"Thanks, I was worried."

"Don't be, you look great for your age."

She was joking, her tone light-hearted but something inside you breaks just a little more. You look at your hands, not a wrinkle or callous, no sign of the exciting and extremely terrifying life you had lived, just smooth young skin stretched over ancient bones.

You should've been nothing more than a skeleton buried beneath centuries-old rubble and flora by now. "Yup."

Ellie fiddled with her hands, trying to think of something else to say, she didn't want the conversation to be over just yet. She clung to every word you spoke like it was scripture and she was the most devoted follower. "What are you gonna do in Montana?"

"I think you know better than me," You answer, eyes focused on the water glittering in the blistering sunlight, beads of sweat resting on your brow. "Care to share?"

"Can't say."

"How come?"

She shrugs "I don't think you want to know."

"Well, how many times have I travelled with this bunch?"

"I've lost count," Ellie lies through her teeth, she knew every statistic, she had turned back time to the ancient cities 872 times to be with you. It slowly got easier to face you every time though it never replicated the love you had that first time, a high Ellie was forever chasing.

"Oh," You respond, leaning against the trunk of the cherry tree, sinking into yourself.

The silence stretches between you two. You had actually missed Ellie in the century that she disappeared completely; you found yourself waiting for her to show up around a corner and say something to annoy you.

After swallowing back another cherry in silence you open your mouth to speak "Ellie, whatever I meant to you, whoever I was, I need you to know that I'm not that girl-

"I know-

"I don't think you do," You say, discarding the stem of the cherry beside you "I need you to forget about any life we had together, at least until you get bored of this one."

"I don't get bored of it, I could never get bored of you," She answers.

"Then why start all the way from the beginning over and over again?" You ask "Just to watch me beg for death?"

Ellie shakes her head "I just can't let go of you." She listens to herself "I guess you're right, I'm holding onto someone who doesn't exist anymore." You watch the realization strike Ellie, with each rapid blink her eyes get more and more watery "I'm sorry, I know it's selfish."

"It is," You answer, feeling no urge to coddle "I'm not her, I know that you loved me but I don't remember what you used to be to me. I'm sure I loved you a lot, but I doubt that I do every single time."

Ellie nodded, using the heel of her palm to wipe at the tears that threatened to spill "Okay," Her voice hardly above a whisper "Just see this life through and I promise I'll fix everything, you live a good life, I promise." You stare at her blankly for a moment before nodding. She must know what waits for you in the future, something sweet perhaps, like sugar resting on the tip of your tongue. "I'll always hold you close but I'm learning you let you go."

"I appreciate it," You say, the ghost of a melancholy smile on your face.

The heat of the day finally disappears into the coolness of night and with that, Ellie disappears too, likely to be seen in another year.

The night was draped in the thick, velvety darkness that you only got in the west, where the only illumination came from the crackling flames of a campfire. Around it sat your sorry crew of companions, their weary faces highlighted by the flickering light, casting shadows that danced across the rugged landscape. They had ridden hard all day, herding cattle across vast plains and navigating treacherous terrain, but now, as they rested under the vast expanse of the starry sky, they sought solace in camaraderie and laughter.

"Y'all hear the one about the preacher who walked into a saloon?" Tommy began, his voice gravelly from years of dust and tobacco. Several others in the group had already called it a night, resting their heads beneath the stars that hung in the ink black sky.

The others leaned in, eager for the punchline.

"He says, 'I'm lookin' for the man who's been sleeping with my wife!' And a fella at the bar stands up and says, 'You'll have to narrow it down, preacher!'" The group erupts into bellowing laughter at his words and you can't help but smile at the pure joy written on these gruff men's faces.

"Alright, alright, I got one more for ya," Wyatt announced, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. He was an unnerving man from the looks of it, tall and intimidating but after the first day you had spent with him, he treated you like a baby sister, ready to go to war for you at the drop of a hat. The others perked up, their interest piqued by the promise of one last ribald tale."So there's this rancher," the cowboy began, "and he's got himself a problem with his bull. See, this here bull is getting up there in years, and he just ain't performin' like he used to."

A ripple of knowing laughter spread through the group, anticipation building for the punchline. Joel sat beside you, he had no interest in the jokes nor did he find them funny, all he got from it was a small detox from his life of overworking himself into exhaustion.

"Now, this rancher, he's heard all kinds of remedies for puttin' a little pep back in a bull's step," the cowboy continued. "But none of 'em seem to do the trick. So he finally decides to consult the local veterinarian."

The rest leaned in, hanging on every word.

"The vet takes one look at the old bull and says, 'I got just the thing for him. There's this new experimental treatment I've been workin' on. It involves a little bit of whiskey.'"

The campfire erupted with uproarious laughter, the group hooting and hollering at the unexpected twist, it ws far from the funniest joke you had ever heard, still, you laugh. Some slapped their thighs, others doubled over with mirth, and a few wiped tears of amusement from their eyes.

"And you know what?" the cowboy concluded with a grin. "After that little glass bottle was emptied, that ol' bull was buckin' like a bronco."

As the laughter at last subsided, the fire crackled softly as men began to say their goodnights and lull for the night. They sat in comfortable silence, their thoughts drifting to the vast expanse of the frontier and the challenges that awaited them come dawn and dreams of the promised land of Montana.

"Y'know, fellas- and madams," Wyatt addresses you and Maria, "We've been tellin' jokes and carryin' on like a pack of fools, but there's somethin' to be said 'bout the bonds we share out here on the range," he began, his husky voice tinged with sincerity.

The others nodded, aside from Joel who was studying the fire in front of him, tuned out from the conversation.

"I reckon there ain't nothin' quite like the brotherhood of the trail," he continued. "We ride together, we work together, and when the chips are down, we stand together. Through thick and thin, come hell or high water, we got each other until death takes us all." Wyatt takes another swig of his moonshine "We may come from different walks of life, but out here, under these stars, we're all just cowboys," the cowboy mused. "And there ain't no bond stronger than that."

"That ain't true," Issac poked up "I know that not one of us will see each other once we get to Montana, we're all goin' our separate ways."

"Don't mean there's no bond," You peep up.

"How's that?"

You shrug "Your heart is just too young to realize."

The group stops for a moment before erupting into ragged laughter, Tommy almost has tears in his eyes at the fact that you had called the man seemingly 15 years older than you young "Kid, you're too young to realize how bad life gets."

"Sounds about right."

Cape Cod, America - May - 1937

To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels.

In the hazed ambiance of the club, the air reverberated with the lively tunes of Duke Ellington, and the floor pulsed with the infectious rhythm of swing. Amidst the whirl of dancers, there you were, dancing so exuberantly that others backed away in fear of you swinging on them; though that was the nature of swing dancing, almost a fight to keep your nose unbroken.

But even the most seasoned dancers could only keep up for so long. As the night wore on and the music continued to play, you found yourself in need of a moment's reprieve. With a smile still lingering on your lips, you tapped your partner, Richard's shoulder, signalling your desire to take a break. You hadn't known him well by any means but he was a good dancer.

Leaning against the cool plaster of the club's wall, you breathed deeply, chest rising and falling in time with the music. You closed her eyes, savouring the lingering sensations of the dance. Little did you know, your moment of respite was about to be interrupted in the most unexpected yet delightful manner.

A voice, smooth and warm, broke through the cacophony of sound around you. "Mind if I join you?" the voice asked, accompanied by a gentle tap on your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you found yourself face to face with a strikingly handsome man, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. His black hair parted to the side and slicked over as well as his dark eyes soft as snow added to his undeniable charm.

A bemused smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, welcoming the interruption. "Not at all," you replied, voice carrying a hint of amusement.

With a casual elegance, the man leaned against the wall beside you, his gaze drifting out across the dance floor. "You're quite the dancer," he remarked, his tone tinged with admiration. He was wearing a white button-up tucked into pinstripe trousers being held up by black suspenders.

"Thank you. I've had a good bit of practice." You smile softly "Your name is?"

"Jesse," He answered "Care to tell me who I'm talking to?"

"Midge," you lie, it was the name you had picked up for your residence in Cape Cod.

"Midge," he repeats smiling as the name rolls off his tongue "You might just have the prettiest smile in Cape Cod."

You can't help but grin "And I thought I had already met all of the gentlemen around these parts."

"Must've been wrong," He said with his crooked smile. Then, after a moment's pause, he extended a courteous offer. "Can I buy you a Coke? It's the least I can do for such a captivating dancer."

You couldn't help but be charmed by his sincerity and manners. With a twinkle in your eye, you nodded in agreement. "I would like that very much."

Your conversation flowed effortlessly as you sipped on your cokes, exchanging stories and sharing laughter amidst the ringing of the club and chatter of individuals all around. With each passing moment, the two of you scrambled for things to talk about, desperate to keep the spark of conversation alive. You had just prayed that you could pull yourself away from his magnetic charisma.

As the night wore on, the music gradually began to fade, signalling the end of another unforgettable evening. Reluctantly, you rose from your seat, a sense of disappointment tugging at your heart while you watched Jesse lean back in his chair studying you like a textbook.

"Well, it looks like the night's coming to an end," you remarked, a wistful smile gracing your lips.

Jesse nodded, his expression mirroring her sentiment. "Indeed it has," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of hopefulness. "But perhaps it's just the beginning of something new?"

"Perhaps," You agreed, gaze lingering on his handsome face.

That was when you had broken the only rule you created for yourself 'Don't fall in love'. One year later you were so head over heels for Jesse that you were getting married. Dressed in your floor-length wedding dress, hair carefully curated after spending hours trying to perfect it.

You hadn't any family to fill up your side of the aisle, so instead you had asked your friends from work and the jazz club to take their places. After telling Jesse you were orphaned, he didn't bat an eye at this. You had frantically searched for someone to fill the shoes of your father who walked the earth centuries prior on the shores of Greece, it was a relief when Jesse's father stepped up.

Walking down the aisle of the church, arms hooked with Jesse's father you see him then, standing at the end waiting for you and he looks like the rest of your life. "You clean up nice," You mutter to Jesse quietly to be sure no one else can hear your little remark.

"I try my best," He smiles, hands in front of him as he waits patiently for the pastor to speak up. He looks handsome as the day you met as you look remarkably the same, not a new scratch or wrinkle upon a single inch of your skin.

As you exchanged vows, the both of you unable to fight the wild smiles on your faces, the world seemed to stand still, as if holding its breath in anticipation. With each word spoken, you pledged your love and devotion to one another, promising to stand by each other's side through all the joys and challenges that life would bring and you meant every word.

The reception was nothing short of perfect in your eyes. Everyone gathered at Jesse's parents' home, flowing in and out as they pleased. You however preferred the outdoors aspect of it, where people chatted happily with a glass of champagne in hand.

"Congratulations," Ellie says "Little bummed that I didn't get an invite," There's an odd sense of bitterness in her voice. She's wearing a blue tulle dress at tea length, blending in perfectly around the other guests, long white gloves to cover the tattoo on her forearm, and she even had her shoulder-length hair pin-curled.

"I figured you would be coming around either way."

"You know me too well," She takes the champagne flute out of your hand and swallows it back.

"You're actually the one who knows me too well."

She nods, faces expressionless while she looks around at the scenery of the yard. "Good luck."

"I'm sorry?" You furrow your eyebrows trying to seek out some tell on Ellie's face that would give you any indicator of what's racing through her head. Still, she's unreadable.

"With your marriage."

"Okay?"

"What's the plan here anyways?" She asks picking up someone's glass of wine the second they place it down on the garden table and turn their head away. "In thirty years, you're still married to Jesse, he's sixty getting wrinkly and you're still young and beautiful?"

As Ellie goes to drink the wine you take it out of her hands, putting it back on the garden table. You think of something to say to her, anything, but the words die in your throat, shrivelling up, never to be said.

"I will say that you becoming a history teacher is very funny."

"Did you just come here to sulk?" You ask.

She shakes her head slightly "I've come here to celebrate your union," Ellie glances around the yard once more.

"Then celebrate," you throw your hands out "I don't see you doing anything other than slinking around."

"Honey, who's this?" Jesse strolls up beside you, putting one hand on the small of your back. He smiles brightly as he looks at Ellie, he has known all of your friends which wasn't a bountiful number to begin with, just other teachers you worked with and some people you danced with.

"Oh!" You force a smile onto your face "This is my old friend from New Orleans, we really have some catching up to do."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jesse," He holds out his hand.

"Ellie," She says shaking it.

"When did you become friends?" He asks "Midge hasn't told me a whole lot about her school days."

Ellie looks at you, she doesn't say anything but you get the message being conveyed. 'What the hell are you doing?' she shifts her eyes to look at the groom "God this one was just wild, keep an eye on her," Ellie forces a fake laugh.

"Really?" He has that goofy lopsided smile painted on his face as he looks at you.

"Yup," Ellie says "So, when are you planning on having kids?"

"Oh," Jesse chuckles, somewhat nervously "We haven't discussed that much."

"It seems like something you should talk about before getting married-

"Thank you," You cut her off "Ellie," You couldn't stand the idea of outliving your child let alone your husband, though it was already an inevitable fate.

"Of course," She's wearing a smile that is bordering somewhere between penitence and condescension, Ellie's looking at you like you're in the gutter.

"Looks like rain," Ellie glances up at the increasingly greying sky before walking inside the cover of the house. "Bad idea," She whispered in your ear as she brushed past. In mere moments after she enters the house thunder cracks and rain dumps from the sky, heavy and harsh, beating against your skin.

Everyone rushes inside, covering their heads as rain showers and soaks them. You and Jesse are frozen, you watch Ellie's figure retreat into the group of people clamouring into the house while Jesse's eyes are trained on you, he can't hold back a laugh.

"Oh no," Jesse's eyebrows furrow as he takes one of your hands in his own and puts the other on the back of your head, staring at your face, makeup running from the rain, hair weighed down by fat droplets dribbling off your collarbone "You spent so long on your hair, what are you gonna do?"

You shake off Ellie's words, cryptic as usual. Your attention snaps back to Jesse once you can no longer see her. The gentleness of his touch, that is his beauty "I'm not sure but I've got half a mind to kiss you," You giggle.

"Yeah?" He takes a step forward "I like that half," Jesse plants a gentle kiss on your lips "The other half is great too."

"You're so odd."

-

It was a quiet Saturday evening in the summer of 1943, the echo of a fuzzy-sounding record player scraping a vinyl filled the room, enveloping you in a certain tenderness.

Jesse, in his crisp white shirt and neatly pressed trousers, held you close, his hand resting gently on the small of your back as they moved together in perfect harmony. Your hair cascaded softly around your face as you rested your head against Jesse's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching the cadence of the music.

As you danced, the cares of the outside world didn't seem to exist, leaving only the intimate space you shared. The faint scent of your flowery perfume drowned out concerns. In the dim light, your shadows danced on the walls. Jesse had never been the better dancer between you though he was particularly tense on this night, his eyebrows were stuck furrowed like every thought running through his head was a worry.

The final notes of the song faded into the stillness of the night, Jesse hesitated, his embrace tightening around you as if reluctant to let you go. Sensing his unease, you looked up at him, concern etched in her features.

His unease wasn't difficult to sense, you pry yourself away from him to take him in completely. "Jesse, what's wrong?" You asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Jesse took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew he had to say. He held you at arm's length, his eyes searching over your features. "I've been drafted. I received my notice this morning." His voice trembled just the slightest as he took a shaky breath.

Your heart skipped a beat, breath catching in her throat and you thought that this must be what death feels like. For a moment, the world seemed to spin out of control as the weight of Jesse's words sank in. Six years with Jesse was not enough, you needed an eternity.

"We can find a doctor to exempt you-

"You know that's not right," He spoke so softly and you knew he was speaking the truth. You could never convince Jesse to do something as heinous as faking some disease or injury to get him out of the war.

"I know," You say and he steadies himself, staring deep into your eyes and through your soul "My whole life, all I've ever known is loss and I have never cared about anything the way I care about you-

He pulls you forward into his arms, rubbing that familiar calloused hand on the small of your back to soothe you "It's all gonna be alright, love, I'll be back before you know it and then it's smooth sailing for the rest of our lives."

You copied the crook of his neck, the warmth of his arms, the curve of his nose to memory. You caught all that you could before it slipped through the empty gaps of your mind. You hadn't realized that he had been doing the same, memorizing the smell of your perfume, the texture of your hair, the way your eyes caught the light.

He told you to look to the future when he finally walked back through that door and you could dance again but the only thing you could see was the end of the world, starting with you saying goodbye to him.

July 12, 1943

My Dearest Love,

I hope this letter finds you well and in high spirits. It's been quite some time since I last wrote to you, and I apologize for the delay. The days here in Europe seem to blend into one another, filled with moments of both intense action and serene contemplation.

As I write this letter, I find myself missing you more and more. You are what keeps me going through these harrowing and relentless days

Please know that you are always in my heart, my love. No matter where I may be, you remain my constant source of hope and inspiration. I dream of the day when this war is finally over, and we can be reunited once more, never to be parted again.

Until then, stay strong, my love. Know that I am fighting for you, for us, and for a better tomorrow. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers, as I do for you each and every day.

With all my love,

Jesse

December 18, 1943

My Dearest Love,

As Christmas draws near, my thoughts turn to you more than ever. I find myself reminiscing about the holidays we've shared together, specifically the weekend we spent at the cabin. How I long to be by your side once more, to hold you close and celebrate the season of peace and goodwill together.

But even amidst the turmoil of war, I see you in every good thing. Here in the trenches, my comrades and I have found solace in each other's company, we are united in our common humanity and our dreams for a home cooked meal.

I am reminded, now more than ever, of the importance of compassion in times of strife. It is love that sustains us, that gives us the strength to endure even the darkest of days. And though we may be separated by miles and oceans, our love remains as strong as ever.

As I write this letter, surrounded by the sounds of gunfire and the cries of my fellow soldiers, I find comfort in the knowledge that you are thinking of me, just as I am thinking of you. Your love is my guiding light,

This Christmas, as you gather with our loved ones know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. Though we may be apart in body, our spirits are forever intertwined, bound together by the enduring power of love.

Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. May the coming year bring us closer to ending this war.

With all my love,

Jesse

March 19, 1944

My Dearest Love,

The world is now brighter than the sun because you're here, that is why I will remain giving you everything that I have.

I have been looking at the moon over and over again and wondered if you stare at it the same time as I do, please say yes. I think the battlefields are turning me into a poet, I would love some critique from a wordsmith such as yourself.

Everything here is frightening (redacted)

In light of the events I've just shared, I am looking forward more than ever to waking up and saying good morning to the sleepy woman lying next to me, that's you if you were curious. Here's to the future!

With all my love,

Jesse

August 8, 1944

My Dearest Love,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today, for the horrors of war have taken their toll on both body and soul. The past few months have been filled with unimaginable hardship as (Redacted)

The knowledge that our sacrifices are not in vain, that we are fighting for a better future for generations yet unborn keeps these weary bones standing straight.

But oh, how I long for the comforts of home, for the warmth of your embrace and the gentle touch of your hand. In the midst of so much death and destruction, it is your love that reminds me of all the beauty that still remains in the world.

I fear that I may never see you again, my love, that this cruel war may rob us of the future we had planned together. And yet I'm not ready to give up. For as long as I draw breath, I will continue to fight for a world where love triumphs over hate, where you and I can go back to life as it was.

All of the living are dead and I have noticed an oncoming silence.

With all my love,

Jesse

May 7, 1945

My Dearest Love,

I can scarcely believe it – the war is finally over, and victory belongs to the Allies!

We won! Or we think we did, a true win would likely have less bloodshed.

But amidst the celebrations and rejoicing, my thoughts turn to you. How unmanly to cry though I find myself doing so as I write this. The thought of being reunited with you fills my heart back up despite those who have emptied it, for you are my everything, my reason for living.

I cannot wait to return home to you, my love, to begin our lives anew in a world free from the shadow of war. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers and that my love for you knows no bounds.

It looks like I'm coming home soon! I'm looking forward to some dance lessons with my one and only.

With all my love,

Jesse

Though you weren't the only one occupying the seemingly empty house, you lived with ghosts. Every step you took they lurked behind you as permanent reminders of everyone you've ever let down; months stretched into years and you clung onto each word in Jesse's letter like it was doctrine. The moment you received that final letter from Jesse you ran out into the streets and hugged the very first person you saw.

"Ellie now isn't a great time to be here," You tell her as she stands behind you in your vanity while you reapply your lipstick "Jesse's home today," You can't help the smile that stretches across your face. After years of hearing from your husband in nothing more than ink over paper, you would see him again and not just in the pictures that you had hung around every corner of the house.

"I'm here to celebrate," She says though she doesn't seem enthusiastic in the slightest. She wears black cigarette pants and a short-sleeved blouse tucked into them. You, on the other hand, had pressed your hair flat only to do it up in pin-curls, wearing your finest dress and most expensive jewelry for your husband's return home.

"If you're going to water down today, you could at the very least pretend to be happy." You were so ecstatic that you didn't even mind that Ellie had chosen today to bum around your house. For once it wouldn't be empty with nothing but your hollowed cries.

"I am happy," She answers "Are you going to wait here for him?"

You shake your head while you put in earrings that Jesse had gifted you on your third anniversary "I'm going down to the train station so I can hug him the second he sets foot back in Cape Cod."

"Nice," She nods "Have you thought about what you're going to do if it doesn't go as planned?"

You furrow your eyebrows, putting the other earring down on the vanity so you can turn back and look at her. "What do you know?" Your smile dropped at her words. Ellie isn't as unreadable as usual, she has traces of guilt across her features and that makes you all the more concerned. "Ellie, what happens?"

Before she can even open her mouth, you hear a firm knock at the front door. "That," Ellie says, you push yourself up from the vanity so fast the chair tips over. You snatch the other earring off of the vanity and awkwardly force it into your piercing as you rush down the hallway as fast as you can in your heels, clickity clack over the floorboards, Ellie trailing slowly behind you.

Your heart was pounding so fast that it reverberated in your head like an echo bouncing off the walls of your mind. A click. A slow creak and you open the door. Sun floods into the room and your heart pinches at the sight of the officer, clad in military excellence with baubles and an olive green jacket.

"Who are you?" Your stomach drops at the sight of the stranger who stands in the place where your husband should be.

The man stared at you, a certain solemn yet controlled grief lurking in his pale eyes. "Ma'am, I am Sergeant Reynolds of the 45th Infantry regiment. Are you Mrs. Midge Maisel, wife of Jesse Chang?"

Your throat went dry. "Yes," You curled your fingers inward, feeling nails push into the soft palm of your hand until the skin broke and you pushed even harder.

You didn't know who helped you sit down when you couldn't move. You only remembered fuzzy voices and the pace of your heart becoming too fast for your body to handle. There was not enough air in the world for you to swallow. The world felt so far away, as did anyone who tried to comfort you or explain the circumstances of Jesse's death.

"After Germany was concurred, he intercepted a grenade ambush from stragglers, saving the lives of many in his platoon."

Everything had stopped spinning, leaving you nauseous where Ellie sat beside you her face smeared in your vision blurry from tears.

Accept our sympathies

Funeral arrangements

The return of personal effects

Bits and pieces of Reynolds's words jumped out at you but you couldn't hear them. Restless nights for centuries were instead what clouded your mind. Outside you could hear families and friends celebrating the return of their loved ones, while you ushered the man out of your door screaming at him to leave. Music played, a celebration you would not take part in but watch bitterly from afar while you plan out the next life you will live.

Ellie begins to speak when the eery silence becomes unbearable "I know you don't want to hear it but this was inevitable-

"Leave," You mutter, resentment simmering inside of you.

"What-

"Leave," You repeat "You knew this was going to happen and you didn't tell me? You didn't stop it?"

"I can't turn the world upside down just to make you happy-

"Then why are you here?" You ask, rage carved in deep despite the tears across your face "I thought you were in love with me and that's why you won't leave me alone."

Her words fail her. She stares at you blankly, trying to scrounge up an answer that would put you both to rest. "We have a good life-

"Ellie, this is not a good life, for you maybe because you don't have to watch me suffer since you can keep skipping to the parts where I'm happy again," You correct her words, fat teardrops streaming down your face while you try to compose yourself the same way that you would a song or a speech. "I'm going to tell you now so you have to get it into your head- We are not friends, I certainly don't love you, I don't even like you and if I ever see your fucking face again, I'm bashing it in."

Bethel, America- August - 1969

If we were vampires and death was a joke, we'd still go out on the sidewalk and smoke.

They wandered through the makeshift villages that sprung up amidst the chaos, where hippies and freaks shared food and shelter, and strangers became friends in the blink of an eye. Your hand was clasped tightly with Dina's while your pupils went wide under the influence.

She refused to let go and lose you in the crowd of sweaty bodies, despite your states you understood well that you would easily lose each other in the sea of people at the music festival and wouldn't cross paths again till night time. She was wearing a turquoise bell-sleeved top paired with a skirt of all sorts of funky patterns and had on at least six beaded necklaces. You'd think that she'd be hard to miss but in this crowd, she blended in perfectly, looking a little bit like everyone else as everyone seemed to bleed together.

You were already high out of your mind the world warping around you, everything moved in frames like an old film. The ground was morphing and breathing under your feet, you giggled with each step, following behind Dina to find the rest of the little group you had come to Woodstock with.

The two of you were nowhere close to the stage, you had only partially come for the music. To you, it seemed like another historic event to add to your list. While most people sit on the ground swaying to Janis Joplin, your small circle of friends was dancing; it was something like them loosely waving their bodies around.

"No one asks me for dances because I only know how to flail!" Dina shouts, laughing so hard that she leans on you for support. You laugh too, head resting on top of Dina's. Her words weren't funny at all but everything seemed funny when fractals hoovered around your eyes. You lifted your head just slightly to see that same freckled face that had haunted you for centuries.

"Ellie!" You shouted, letting go of Dina's hand and making your way towards her, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Dina lulled in place watching you run away from her.

Ellie looked frightened that you had stuck true to your promise of bashing her face in the next time you saw her but instead, you wrapped your arms around her tightly and began to sway gingerly. It was just the beating of hearts like two drums in the rain.

"I'm sorry," You mutter into the crook of her neck. "I missed you, you should visit more."

Hesitantly, Ellie hugged you back, folding her arms around your torso and letting herself sink into you. In the past 2380 you had never hugged Ellie, you hardly touched her. She closed her eyes letting delusion flood her brain, thinking back to the first time she had seen you and then seventy years later when she realized you were immortal and every other timeline she had lived with you.

"I missed you too," She muttered, trying to ignore the fact that you were only saying this because you were high.

You pull back away from her and take her in, all dazed. You give her a boop on the nose with your index and erupt in giggles while Ellie furrows her eyebrows. An idea strikes you and it's apparent on your face as you light up, eyebrows shooting up. "You should come to tell my friends about all of your time-travelling stories!"

Ellie starts to shake her head but you pull her away despite that. She trails behind you as you refuse to let go of her hand, dragging her back to the grassy patch where your friends danced, some of them taking a quick break flat on their backs. "This is Ellie, we've been friends for a long time."

The group acknowledges her, mainly with waves and giggles but Jimmy goes the extra mile, standing up and extending a lanky arm "It's good to meet you."

"This is my best friend in the world forever!" You sling an arm around Dina, calling for Ellie's attention. Dina leaned into your touch, a drowsy smile on her face. "Ellie can actually travel through time."

You tell the group and they all look toward her, eyes squinted and bodies relaxed. Ellie didn't mind, knowing that they were too high to believe her by the time they sobered up even if they did she could go back and fix it. She nods along "It's true and she's immortal." Ellie points at you.

"No, you're not," Dina pokes you.

"I believe it," Weston speaks up from his spot on the ground where he lies with Patricia, her ash blonde hair strewn across the grass "I have never seen this woman so who am I to not believe her." As opposed to the majority of the group whose pupils were dilated from LSD, the whites of his eyes had turned red from the herbs he smoked.

Stevie is still dancing, her loose white dress rustly so slightly in the gentle breeze. Dawn dances with her, her hair the colour of fire tied neatly into two twin braids, she doesn't care about anything besides the way her feet carry her.

"One time I cut out my own heart and I ate it," You giggle, head resting on Dina. Her face was sunkissed, accentuating her freckles. She had let her dark hair run loose.

Jimmy looks at you, through his sunglasses. He has Ellie sitting next to him, his ebony skin a contrast to her paleness. "How does that work?"

"I slice my skin open and then I break my ribs, rip out my heart and shove it in my mouth.

He looks you up and down "Ribs look fine to me."

"I can show you," You look around to find something to cut you open, and you see a large rock with some smaller ones stacked around it. You walk over, all eyes on you as you put your wrist on top of the larger rock.

In your free hand, you pick up a smaller jagged rock that fits into the claw of your hand. You raise the jagged stone up and smash it into your wrist with little effort after the strength you have gathered over the years.

Dina lets out a scream watching your arm bend out of shape, wrist twisted so your hand doesn't sit where it's supposed to. You bring the rock up and slam it down again, making sure to dig into your skin, flesh mangled up on your arm and you brought it up to show everyone. Jimmy scrambled to his feet in a panic, racing through the crowd to find a medic.

"No, it's healing!" You shout after Jimmy. Weston looks at your mangled arm with wide eyes before buckling onto his knees and throwing up. Dawn and Stevie pause their dancing, Dawn froze in fear and Stevie backed away. "Do you see?" You shake your arm trying to show them that the wound was fixing itself.

-

"I can show you," You look around to find something to cut you open, and then your eyes settle on Ellie who shakes her head at you. You knew this meant she had seen the outcome and it wasn't good so you decide to drop the topic, plopping yourself onto the grass.

"Don't you wanna dance?" Dina asks.

You shake your head. You had reserved dancing for Jesse who you knew you wouldn't see again, not even in death since it would never come for you.

The day had eventually faded away into night, the concert still rang loud but you stayed far in the back of the crowd, lying on the ground with Ellie and looking at the stars. "I'm really sorry for everything you've been through," Ellie breaks the pure hum of music.

"I'm really sorry for everything you've seen," You answer. "I thought the war would finally be over," You murmur, thinking back to Jesse and the idea you conjured up of his corpse; you imagined him to be blown into a million pieces, a thought that never left your mind no matter how high you got or what you drank you knew it wouldn't end. You had thought World War two to be the last until the Vietnam War plagued the news and began to pluck men from neighbourhoods all around.

"It doesn't end, not ever," Ellie tells you.

"You should fix it."

"I've tried," There's a hint of sadness in her voice "If one ends, a new one will always spring up."

The two of you fall silent for a moment, heads side to side but you don't look at one another, only the stars. There's something so calming yet unnerving about the inky black sky; it reminded you of the nothingness that consumed you on the night you had given up your mortality.

"I don't want to live," The words fall from your lips so effortlessly. The LSD was wearing off, leaving you to be in control of your thoughts and your body all over again.

"I know."

"I've seen more men die than I can count."

"I know."

"I can't seem to hate you though."

Ellie turns her head to look at you and you do the same. Her green eyes are shining beneath the moonlight, just the shadow of her face illuminated. You lean forward just the slightest and connect your lips into a kiss, Ellie seems surprised but she doesn't fight it.

Once you pull away, you can only seem to make out one sentence "Don't leave this time."

Greenport Village, America - April - 2011

A handshake of carbon monoxide, no alarms and no surprises.

As the late afternoon sun cast its golden hues over the rolling hills of the Greenport, you made your way home planning a quick visit to the beach before doing so, arms laden with bags filled with groceries from the quaint village market, arms laden with provisions that you had no need for, save to fill the endless hours of your existence.

You walked with your timeless beauty that seemed to shimmer like a mirage in the fading light, you had called the Greenport Village home for six years now, finding a position there as a history teacher, your favourite job of the hundreds you had worked. Though the passing decades had left their mark on the landscape and its inhabitants, you remained unchanged, frozen in time like a moth preserved in amber.

You still struggled to come to terms with the fact that death would never take you though Ellie tried to make it easier. All these years and it never felt any better, it was still difficult to swallow the truth.

There was no solace to be found in the quiet beauty of the world around you. For two thousand years, you had walked the earth with Ellie, you, a solitary figure doomed to wander the endless expanse of time and her, the shadow that trailed behind and mocked your existence without intending to. You had seen kingdoms rise and fall, witnessed the birth and death of countless generations, and yet you remained unchanged, untouched by the ravages of time. All of the identification you had forged didn't make you into who you said you were.

Walking towards the beach, you could've sworn that you recognized every face you saw but that was just how long you had lived; everyone you've ever known slowly bleeding into everyone else like a suicide cleanup. You would outlive the kids playing on the seesaw and the toddlers scrambling around them, you would outlive their offspring too and every other generation after that.

Eventually, you found yourself in your usual spot in the park, an old beaten bench outlooking the sea where sunlight danced off of it like sparks.

After the seventies, you had accepted that the land was your only friend, ever-changing just like you, yet it remained miraculously intact. You had Ellie, on occasion, though calling her a friend would be a loose term. You weren't sure what she was but butterflies and maggots had a field in your intestines every time you thought of all of the things she knew about you and how little you know of her.

The lack of trust always lingered. You never knew if she had gone back in time and forced you to forget about something she said or something you asked. How many times had you begged her to go back to the beginning and let you ebb away with old age?

As you sat in silent contemplation, lost in the labyrinth of your centuries-old thoughts, a frail figure approached, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane. It was an old woman, her face etched with the lines of a life well-lived, her eyes twinkling with a spark of something you couldn't make out.

You shifted slightly on the bench, making room for her unexpected companion. The old woman, her steps slow and deliberate, lowered herself onto the seat beside you, exhaling a contented breath as she settled into place.

For a long moment, you sat in companionable silence, each lost in your own reverie. "You must be an old soul," The woman next to you speaks, covered in sunspots and wrinkles, grey and white streaks all through her black hair. "When you're old all you want to do is sit and stare at the scenery."

"Yeah," You give her a tight-lipped smile "I'm mature at heart."

The woman furrows her eyebrows for a moment, deep in thought as her brown eyes rake over every single one of your features, studying you like scripture. "I'm sorry," She shakes her head "You just look like a girl I used to know."

"Really?" You ask and then it strikes you like lightning. Despite the withering of her face, it's the same bump of her nose, the freckles across her skin, the curve of her jaw, it was your Dina.

She waves it off "She's long gone by now, haven't heard from her in years." Dina looks off to the ocean, the screech of kids is far off in the distance. Her face drops just the slightest at the mention of this.

"Who was she?" You press, just wanting to hear Dina's voice after decades of replaying memories and performing autopsies on expired conversations like you could somehow revive them and the people who came with.

"Oh, um," Dina hadn't expected you to carry on the conversation, people had stopped caring about what she had to say when time hit her and dragged her skin down. "A friend of mine, way back before you were born. If you could see her, gosh," Dina mutters, salt and pepper hair braided down her back "You could've been her twin."

Your heart was slamming against your ribcage like it wanted to be set free. "Uh, I'm sorry if this seems odd," You say with a shakey breath "But could you just keep talking? I don't want to have to think right now."

Her eyebrows knit together just the slightest, concern growing with your words "About what?"

"Just," You shrug "Reminisce maybe," Nearby there were birds on a wire chirping, it felt like every one of them was talking to you, beedy eyes prying into your veins "I just like stories."

Dina slips a small smile, her teeth not quite as white as they used to be but her smile holds all of the comforts nonetheless "My stories are no good, I'm sure you'll have better ones when you're my age."

You shake your head on impulse, grasping the pieces of her that you still held close to your ancient heart. "No, I don't think I'll get there," You aren't trying to ramble yet here you are, scrambling to reconnect the two of you like this is a film that ends well.

Her smile falters, trying to comprehend the odd woman beside her, beginning to contemplate that you're high on something, suspicion growing more solid with each shake of your hands and blink of your watery eyes. "Are you alright?" She lowers her voice.

"Yup," You nod, already feeling her slip through the space between your fingers all over again like she had years prior. At this point in your life, you should've been a better liar but you just sat there, tears rolling down silently while you forced your teeth to bear a smile. You wanted to tell her how nice it was to see her and remind her of all of the days and nights alike you had wasted on each other.

It was easy to see how she didn't believe you, from your trembling hands gripping your thighs in an attempt to steady them to the manufactured smile you wore on your face, sadness seeping from your pores. Unlike Dina, you felt that age had made you no wiser. Years you spent studying and chasing careers just to end up faking death and restarting all over again from scraps, losing a little piece of yourself every time.

She places one of her calloused and withered hands over yours where it grasps to the fabric over your thighs. She meets your gaze "Whatever it is, you'll be okay."

Something inside you shifts, then cracks, and crumbles completely. The agonizing pain accumulated by thousands of years spilled out of you in the form of tears as salty as the ocean spray that simmered on your skin. It was like every awful thing you had ever felt was going to burst through the gaps of your teeth.

There was entirely too much going on in your head when you inched forward and wrapped your arms around Dina, chin resting on her neck. It took a minute but you felt her bony hands rest on your back while she returned the gesture, albeit confused.

You were glad you got to see her again. Every time someone passes through your life you think of all of the things you would do to speak to them one more time. You had finally been given a blessing, something that balanced out the bitterness of eternity. "I'm sorry, Dina."

The second you spoke you regretted it. With what little grace you have left you manage to pry yourself up, sheepishly standing to your feet and trying not to wobble like a colt. Dina's bygone face held more confusion than ever, mouth slightly ajar as she watched you with wide eyes like a doe. "Honey, I think you have the wrong person."

Your feet move faster than your head, not leaving Dina behind a second time but a complete stranger. You had only been sick with nostolgia. Panic shot through your veins like box cutters trying to find their way to your heart, which they surely would.

Your day's shopping had been left behind at the bench along with all of the dreams you once etched into indigo skies and sandy shores, now all they did was rot at your feet, at least they had the pleasure of aging.

The feeling of screaming was creeping up your body in shivers, you hugged yourself all the way home, swivelling your head every minute to be sure that ghosts weren't following you but they always had a way of sneaking up on you.

What purpose did you serve? Anything mildly important you had ever done was lost to time, gone, forgotten. You didn't get the luxury of having children with the one you love, you didn't even have anyone to love. You drag your mud-covered heels all the way up the steps of your stoop slamming the door behind you.

With trembling hands and a mind consumed by anguish, you began to tear through her home with frenzied desperation, your movements fueled by a maelstrom of emotions too powerful to contain, the urge-no, the need to die. You ripped books from their shelves, their pages fluttering like wounded birds as they scattered across the floor in a flurry. You overturned furniture with reckless abandon, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoing through the empty rooms like a orchestra of destruction.

You open your cabinets, dragging your hands behind all of the ceramic and glass, pushing it to the ground and watching them shatter at your feet. What need did you have for a fridge full of food when you don't have to eat? Or a feathered bed when you don't need to sleep, you can't even bring yourself to sleep these days.

Each crash and thud seemed to reverberate through your empty, a haunting reminder of the pain and turmoil that threatened to consume her from within. Memories, once cherished and dear, now lay shattered and broken like all of the ambition you should have forgotten, fragments of an overwhelming life that had slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

With a guttural cry of anguish, you sank to your knees amidst the wreckage, body racked with sobs that seemed to tear at your very core. You clutched at your hair in despair, her fingers intertwined in the tangled strands like thorns in a bed of roses.

Your eyes snagged on the cabinet below your sink. You crawl over to it, shards of shattered glassware sticks into the soft palms of your hands, porcelain china cutting up your knees. It didn't even feel like anything, you just wanted to feel something.

You pull the cabinet open pushing the other cleaning supplies aside and grabbing the ammonia and bleach. Twisting the caps of and discarding them among the wreckage, you take a deep breath before raisng the bottle of bleach to your lips and drinking, the harsh and ancrid taste making you cringe but you kept swallowing until you could feel a burning in your throat, taking a quick shallow breath and then doing the same with the ammonia, tears brimming your eyes and hitting the few beams of sunlight that struck through your closed curtains like the glimmer from the ocean.

God, it tasted rancid but for a moment, a brief one it had felt like death or something similar. Mouth feeling like plastic throat burnt to rubber you drank until both bottles were empty. You pressed yourself as flat as you could on the floor, soaking in the last moments of feeling as your insides contorted before stillness.

All of the cells you killed were fixing themselves up and after a minute, you felt numb like you tended to. You hiccup, body jerking upwards just the slightest, a spat of vomit now dribbling at you chin.

Deep inside of you, you knew Ellie would be back to fix your wreckage and leave you oblivious to the destruction you not only caused but craved. She would just keep going back until you help something on the spectrum of happy.

Define happy.

Smiling?

Joking?

Laughing?

Not digging through the dictionary to find new ways to try to kill yourself?

That last one sounds right.

"Ellie, I can't do this anymore!" You screeched hoarsely to the empty room, despite the freckled girl being nowhere in sight. "Can you please let me die now!"

You call for her until your throat is as dry as sandpaper, hollow words scraping themselves dry before they can leave your mouth. Your voice is reduced to a pathetic rasp and you pray that she regrets stealing blood from your veins.

"Please!" You scream, fingers gripping onto the marble counter to haul yourself up. You stumble for a moment as you adjust to the jagged shards you stand on. "I know we've done this before but you'll just lie and make me sound like I'm fucking crazy," A sob falls from your mouth like a howl.

You pull a long kitchen knife from the knife block, and watch the silver blade glimmer, a warped reflection of yourself staring back at you. With little hesitation, you plummet it into your stomach, again and again until your midriff is a mangled fleshy mess. Blood pooling out of you like cherry wine. Nothing new.

"Asshole!" You cry out "I know you're hiding around here somewhere!" Your mind immediately went to how many times this situation had played out, on this same day. Maybe you had done something worse.

Lungs burning from screaming, cries throbbing inside of your throat, you have one last idea that had to have happened before. "Can you please stop?"

You turn to face the voice, hair matted, clothes torn and bloody, vomit from makeshift mustard gas sliding down your chin to your neck. You drop the knife, it clatters against the tiles "No," You approach her, each step more certain than the last. "You need to stop, this isn't right."

"I know," She says, face stone-cold a hint of irritation in her tone. She's back in her grey hoodie and jeans, finally, she fits into the time period.

"If you know then why have I been pleading with you to go back to the start and stop me from dying in the first place and making that deal?" You're inches away from her, voice carrying challenge if not bitterness. "Like I've asked you over and over again." Your voice is unsteady like it's being crushed beneath the weight of the world.

"Because I love you," She says, raising one hand to cup your face.

If it were for the chemicals flattering through the air making you nauseous, this act alone almost brought you to your knees with sickness. You don't bother to move her hand though, just shuddering under the touch. "Do you really?"

She nods, gaze softening "Yes."

"Then you'll go back and you'll fix all of this right?"

Her hand falls from its resting spot on your face. "You want to forget?"

"No, I want to die." Silence falls between you. Each rise and fall of your chest shaky and ragged "You keep forgetting that I'm a person, I'm not a concept you've curated in your head." It was hard to find yourself being gentle to her. It was hard to feel bad for her in general with how she treated your entire being as something for her to tune in and out of as she pleased.

Ellie takes a breath in, eyes unwavering from yours "Okay."

"Okay?" You don't believe her "You'll fix this and you'll leave me alone and let me live a regular life without knowing you?" You breathe the moment in, the hopes that this will be over soon. The taste of heartache and war could be washed away from your mouth, you wouldn't meet Joel and watch his daughter die in front of him or meet Jesse and fall in love. The humiliation to be made of rotting flesh then it hits you- how many times have you had this conversation? "I want you to promise-

Athens, Greece- October- 412 BC

I prayed for your breath right here in the shallows.

Rain splashes against the skin of your face in lands of ancient Greece, where the winds themselves whispered stories of gods and heroes, neither of which you were. You were nothing more than a frightened woman running away from an unforgiving husband in the dead of night where your quickened heartbeat falls in rhythm to the ocean which is almost as angry as the storm that roars above.

Carefully you dodge the jagged rocks sticking out from the sand, you had memorized each and every one after days of burning your skin on the shores. Water surged against the rocks near your feet, white froth sizzling in the waves retreating like it was trying to drag you in and take you for its own.

Your heavy breathing was devoured by the heavy rain and cracks of lighting, the sounds of thunder so deep it was like Zeus himself was stomping in the clouds. Despite the night being dark you trusted the moonlight that glimmered off of the ocean to guide you. You have nothing more than the soaking wet clothes on your back, jewelry to sell, and the drachmas you had stolen from your husband tucked away safely in a wool tagari purse.

This time around, Ellie doesn't intervene. She watched you, panic-stricken, fumble over wet sand and glide past slick rocks. Trying to outrun your fears of wasting your life.

As you reached the edge of a rocky outcrop, your leather sandal caught on a slick stone, sending you tumbling to the ground. With a sickening thud, your head struck against the unforgiving rock, and the world around you spun into darkness.

You were dead. Body limp on the plethora of rocks, the tide slowly lulling over your body until Ellie kneeled down next to your body and gingerly guided it into the ocean for it to take. The blood from the wound in the back of your head is sucked away into the sand. She watched your corpse drift out and get pulled down, all she needed was another lifetime with you. You didn't know how miserable you were with her anyway. 

This is not a story about love.

A/N: guys I’m breaking hiatus to post this bc I realised it’s been hanging in my drafts for a century (century haha) Anyways I actually hate this but it felt too long to scrap so thanks for reading.

Perm tag list: @ellslvr @gold-dustwomxn @bready101 @whenlostinthedarkness @veeveeisgay @vqxen

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Home

Pairing: Captain John Price x f!reader

Warnings: smut mdni (18+) it fades to black sorry, established relationship, fluff

Words: 3.4k

Synopsis: You and Price are on leave together...

You are currently reader chapter 1 of Duty Over Heart

October 2023

You were deep into a book when your phone buzzed beside you. It took you only a moment to break out of the spell of your book before you were fully immersed back into the living room of Price’s apartment. You had settled yourself in the corner of the couch, getting cozy against the plush fabric to the point where you had to read a book to keep yourself from dozing off into a nap.

When you picked up your phone you saw that it was Price. You didn’t hesitate to shut your book and answer it, a smile already pulling at your lips. 

“Why are you calling me?” You teased, your smile growing wider when you heard him chuckle.

“I missed your voice.” Price said and you rolled your eyes.

“You’ve only been gone for three hours.”

“I’d say that’s long enough after being around you for a week.”

You hummed as if you were trying to sound disinterested but you knew he didn’t buy it. You did have to admit that you were starting to miss him even though he hadn’t been gone for nearly as long as the many times you two had been apart. You tried to be unbothered when he had to go back to base for something right after being put on leave, and usually you were since you knew he’d come back, but this time it got you.

It had only been a week, not even, of being with Price uninterrupted without anything to do with work before Laswell called saying she needed a document from him, one that was only on his work laptop he had left on base.

It wasn't so much as him being gone but the knowledge that once he got back, he’d be stuck in his home office. One document always turned into two and then five, and then he was stuck doing extra reports because the workload needed to be split between him and Laswell. He’d spend most of his break working and you had hoped that this time would be different.

You should’ve learned by now not to get your hopes up.

“Isn't it risky to bring work home with you?” You wondered out loud, your smile now faded as you picked at the fabric of the couch.

“Would you rather me stay on base?” He countered and you sighed.

“No.”

You knew he was overly careful when he brought it home with him. You had never seen a laptop so full of protection before so the likelihood of anyone getting anything out of it was nonexistent but you wished that the risk would deter him from bringing it home.

“It won’t take me long, promise.” He assured you but you had a hard time believing it.

“How far out are you?” You asked to change the subject and got up from the couch.

“About forty minutes.”

You walked into the kitchen and saw that when he’d get back it’d be time for dinner. You wondered if maybe he’d skip the meal with you to get the work done as quickly as possible which made you start pulling out the things you needed to make it.

You might as well make it now if that became the case.

“Good, you’ll be home for dinner.” You placed a skillet on the stove and turned the oven on.

“It’s my turn to make it.” You could hear the frown in his voice and imagined his usual scowl. “Put it away.”

“Are you really going to complain about a hot meal being ready when you get home?”

“Absolutely, now put it away and I’ll make dinner when I get there.”

You snorted from the use of his “captain voice” as you called it but didn’t put the skillet away. Instead you fit your phone snugly between your shoulder and your ear as you began to prepare a favorite meal you both enjoyed.

“Okay.” You lied and you must’ve made enough noise for him to know it as he grumbled to himself. 

“You’re lying. Stop that.” He demanded softly and you smiled.

“It’s fine! It might not even be ready by the time you get home so you can help me.”

Price sighed heavily. There wasn’t much he could do since he was forty minutes away and talking to you on the phone. He would have to cut his losses on this one but you knew he didn’t want to and that he would surely find a way to get back at you for it.

“You’ll at least wait for me, yeah?”

“Always.”

You both went silent for a moment, taking in each other's presence even when it was on the other side of a phone. You would’ve been content staying on the phone with him until he got home but you also didn’t want to distract him any further than he already was. You could practically see the far off look he got in his eyes when he had a chance to sit in silence.

“Be careful, okay?” You said softly.

“Always. I’ll be home soon.”

The phone call ended and you set your phone down before you began to cook. You didn’t think about much after the conversion until you had to look at your phone for the recipe and you found yourself staring at the lock screen of your phone.

It was a relatively recent picture of you and Price where you had kissed his cheek just as the picture was taken. You had stared at the picture an embarrassingly amount of times but sometimes you couldn’t help it, especially when you got to thinking about how you got here.

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with him, at least not enough for him to know, but every time you were put on an assignment with him all those years ago you couldn’t help it. 

You’re not sure what hooked you, his charm, work ethic, his looks, or literally anything about him, but you didn’t have any regrets for having feelings for him now. It seemed like you became friends with him almost immediately despite him being a lieutenant at the time but neither of you cared about the difference in ranking. 

It took only three years after knowing him for you to realize that you loved him more than just friends, more than what was appropriate for your job. Back then you thought it was one sided but Price proved you wrong so quick you wondered how you ever had any doubts. 

Since then it was hard for you to remember a time without Price. You had spent every moment speaking to him over the phone and over text before the two of you got together, getting together only meant making the times you were around each other more fulfilling.

It was still relatively recent since you moved in with him. Before the task force had been made you two had to visit each other whenever you wanted to see each other when leave was granted and though neither of you had an issue with it, the task force gave an excuse for you to move closer.

“I think I found an apartment close by.” You had told him and he had given you an incredulous look. “What, you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I thought you were moving in with me.” He frowned and your heart skipped a beat.

“You didn’t say I could.”

“It’s a given.”

It was unofficial. A paper trail connected to you both could cause issues if someone wanted to snoop around so it was better that you moved in and pretended that you found a place somewhere else. 

It had been four years since you moved in and no one had caught on. You couldn’t help but joke how easy it was for the two of you to pretend that there was nothing romantic between you because you had done it for so long.

Though, part of you wished that things would’ve changed when you were brought on the task force. There were different rules yet the secrecy of your relationship stayed the same.

Even if the task force blurred the lines of fraternizing with differently ranked soldiers, a romantic relationship between a lieutenant and a captain was far different than a friendship. 

Neither of you were sure if he’d lose his job or his reputation would darken, or if the same would happen to you. You may not have affiliation with your respective militaries, but some things carry over, especially because of how long the two of you had been together.

Next month would mark ten years. 

Ten years of love and some hardship. More than ten years of putting your life on the line for the greater good, but the ten years of being with him, loving him, made it more worthwhile.

This would be the first time in your entire relationship the both of you would be home for your anniversary. You always ended up having to celebrate it months after and while those times were special, you were excited to finally have the opportunity to celebrate it on the exact day.

You had no clue what you or Price planned, but you knew he was just as excited about it as you were. Almost every night he was bouncing off ideas with you before bed but neither of you could pick any of the options with how fun or exciting they sounded.

There were so many things you both wanted to do for every anniversary that now that you got the chance to celebrate it on the day, it was hard to choose.

No doubt you’d have the same conversation tonight only to end up nowhere. At the very least you both had the time to think about it without worrying about where the next war criminal or weapons deal was taking place.

The time seemed to flyby as you made dinner,  though your mind was occupied for most of it. You were so preoccupied with cooking that you missed the front door opening and the familiar sound of boots hitting the floor.

Price expected you to call out to him like you normally did and was ready to reply but there was nothing. He wasn’t upset however because it meant he wouldn’t have to wait to see you after hearing you.

He set the bag with his laptop down a little unceremoniously. He knew you were a little upset that he had to go and get it because he was also more annoyed about having to get it as well. He thought he had everything finished before the task force was cleared for leave, but he should’ve known better.

He didn’t regret leading the task force but he couldn’t lie and say that the extra paperwork made the job worth it. He’d much prefer to just stay on the field and do his job there then report on intel or file things, especially since the paperwork seemed to get more and more with each mission.

It took up too much of his time. Time he could be using tying up loose ends or finding intel on Makarov or in this case spending time with you.

He huffed and pushed it out of his view. He’d deal with it tomorrow, right now he wanted to be around you. 

Price knew what meal you had made from the mouthwatering smell that came from the kitchen, a favorite of you both but one of your comfort foods you ate when you were upset. He’d hoped you would forgive him for it and he was about to apologize to you as he stepped into the kitchen, but froze when he saw you.

Even after almost a decade, sometimes when he saw you he still got that funny feeling in his chest. 

You weren’t doing anything other than finishing up dinner but just the sight of you in front of him, doing as you pleased with a content look on your face made him fall in love with you even more.

This happened often. It didn’t matter if you were doing the dishes or laundry, or if you were sitting on the couch reading a book or even just sleeping, he seemed to be completely enamored by you. He had to stop what he was doing just to watch, to drink in the fact that you were in front of him, around him, and at peace.

It didn’t matter how long the two of you were on leave for either. Months from now if he caught you making dinner he’d still find himself staring at you with the same sense of calm and warm heart.

The best part of all of it was the fact that you loved him.

In the past he wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him he’d be spending leave with you in the same flat and dating you for as long as it’s been. He would’ve said it wishful thinking, he would’ve thought they were just trying to get his hopes up.

Yet now he got to watch you make dinner, the dinner he was supposed to make, in your shared flat and he couldn’t help but smile like an idiot.

“Smells good.” He said and you jumped, whirring around to look at him with your hand over your heart. “Sorry, love.”

“John.” You scolded him softly but reached out for him.

Price pulled you into him immediately and wrapped his arms around you firmly. He didn’t waste time placing a tender kiss on your lips that you reciprocated just as quickly. A smile tugged at his lips when you ran your hand through his beard and when you both pulled away, all you two could do was smile at each other.

You felt a little disheartened. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him again but you knew a lot of his time would be taken up with work once more. You were prepared to spend nights alone and almost having to beg for his attention while he poured most of energy into getting the work done.

It was unfortunate that his hard work ethic that got countless war criminals and black market dealers in custody or killed also made him spend most of his time trying to power through work to get it done as soon as possible. He spent most of his life working, on and off the job, and you wondered if it bothered him as much as it did you.

You should be used to it by now. You wished you didn’t get as upset as  you did after having been through it for four years now but sometimes it still caught you off guard. 

You’d just have to deal with it.

You tried not to let him know how upset you were but you found it hard to look him in the eyes. So instead you just gave him a quick smile and tried to step away from him.

“Do you want to eat first or…” You began but he squeezed your hip and gave you a quick smile.

“It’s tomorrow's problem.” He assured you and you brightened up immediately. “I’ll set the table.”

“Kate’s okay with that?”

“She will be.”

You grinned. You felt a little bad for Kate and you hoped that maybe she would take a break as well, but you were much more relieved that you had Price for at least the rest of the day. You’d prefer to have him for longer but you’d take what you’d get.

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek and before long the two of you sat across from each other eating dinner like nothing happened. 

The rest of the evening went by normal despite the hiccup. This time on leave seemed to be easier for the two of you to fall back into civilian life as if neither of you risked your lives nearly every other day. Sometimes leave was hard to get into but this time you and Price seemed to ease into it as if you’d never left it.

Later that night when it was time for bed, you lounged in the comforts of the bed while Price went through his nightly routine in the connecting bathroom. You scrolled on your phone through potential ideas for your anniversary, your current fixation being camping, specifically cabins somewhere that was far from people that it gave enough seclusion for a peaceful uninterrupted weekend.

“What about a cabin?” You called out and he hummed.

“It’d be quiet which means we can be loud.” He teased and you snorted. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Me neither.”

“But you liked the beach as well.”

You pursed your lips. It was true that you did find a vacation to the beach for your anniversary an exciting idea. The waves, salt air and warm sun would be the perfect place to relax and enjoy your time with Price…but the cabin would be a nice place too. The beach was expensive but you knew he didn’t have an issue with that and would chide you for suggesting it was too much.

“Dinner somewhere posh, maybe?” Price came into the bedroom and you raised an amused eyebrow.

“And then we could go somewhere nice after. Maybe a day trip?” You suggested and he nodded.

“But that doesn’t feel like enough, eh?”

You sighed. You looked at him and he looked at you, his hands on hips while the two of you stared at each other with slight amusement. The indecisiveness from you both wasn’t too frustrating considering you both understood why neither of you could manage to choose. 

There were just so many options, so many things that you never got to do until now, you both wanted to make the most of it. 

“We’re never going to choose.” You shook your head and he chuckled as he crawled into bed.

“We could just take the entire month.” He pulled you closer to him and propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. “Do all of it.”

“That’s a little overkill.”

“Ten years is a long time, lots to celebrate.”

You put your phone away and looked up at him. You were the only one who got to see his cold blue eyes, the ones that struck fear and respect into others, softened into pools of warmth. The only one who saw him truly relax and the only one who was on the receiving end of the lovesick eyes that he seemed to pull on you every chance he got. You were the only one who could run your fingers through his soft beard that had a few new gray hairs in and the only one who got to feel his lips against yours.

You were the only one who knew him as Captain and John. Your lifelong partner, the love of your life.

“That is a long time.” You mumbled while you ran your fingers through his beard.

Price leaned into your touch as his eyes fluttered shut. He hummed deep within his chest and wrapped his hand around your wrist, rubbing his thumb into your knuckles. His eyes opened when you snaked your hand behind his head and they darkened when you gave him a gentle tug.

He pressed a short kiss to your lips to tease you. He ran his hand down your side and snuck it underneath the shirt you stole from him. He continued to tease you while his hand roamed your soft skin to make you shiver, the rough pads of his fingertips just barely touching your nipples.

“John.” You breathed out a whine and he smiled. 

“What do you want, hm?” He trailed featherlike kisses across your neck up to you the shell of your ear as he continued to tease your breasts.

“Want you to touch me…be inside me.”

Price groaned softly and gave you a heated kiss. He palmed your breasts while he rolled on top of you and pinned you underneath him. He didn’t waste any time touching you the way you wanted, sparking fire across your skin and making electricity race through you while he stole every thought from you with each kiss he gave you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him there even as he made you dizzy. A moan escaped your mouth as he dipped his hand into your panties and spread open your wet folds, gathering your slick on his practiced fingers before he began to play with your clit.

He kissed your neck and you squirmed underneath him, clutching his shirt as pleasure raced through you.

It didn’t really matter if neither of you could choose as long as you were together.

A/n: sorry for the fade to black i'm just not in the mood for full blown smut. we'll have more chances in the future don't worry also sorry this took forever i got depressed lol

Tags: @thriving-n-jiving @writingmysanity @teconkaals @xb14 @misshoneypaper @hers-area @shuttlelauncher81 @mamanmae @sofasoap

[starshipsofstarlord]

Modern!Nat Being Your Dealer

summary - natasha romanoff is your dealer, and you go to collect your order, however you seem to have forgotten something important… though there is another way that you can pay for your addiction (2.1k)

warnings - 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, drug dealing, sex in place of payment, swearing

natasha romanoff works other mcu works masterlist

Everyone struggled in life, and once in a while they needed a little help. There were many ways people went about that, some people went to therapy, others enjoyed a good book, others listened to waves that had been recorded for that specific purpose. But none of those spectacles of aid made you feel any better.

And thus you had turned to substances instead of white noise, specifically one that was more common and less harmful - weed. A large majority of the population did it, and it was nothing to be ashamed about, it just made you unwind from the trauma that skulked in the darkest parts of your mind and coaxed you into a resting state of sleep.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you climbed out of your beat convertible, locking the vehicle behind yourself as you strode towards the locked hinges of your e of dealer's door. It felt suspenseful every time that you came here, knowing that it could be your last if your supplier was overturned by the forces for her illegal actions actions, and you wouldn't exactly be ignored pu so for purchasing from her.

But everything looked crisp and normal, just the way you liked it. Quickly as to not avert any attention you shot Natalia, the Russian importer a text letting her know that you had arrived to the destination where she handled business. It felt like a lifetime as you awaited for her to open the door and usher you inside, and once she unlocked the barricade of privacy you felt like you were hit by a brick.

It didn't matter how many times that you had seen the astoundingly attractive redhead, you always felt as though you were experiencing whiplash from being greeted with her appearance. It was an unruly kind of magnetism that she styled herself with, her lipstick was blurred subtly past the lines of her actual lips, her short bob was twisted with curls that she had no doubt patiently toyed with as she sat there, looming behind the frosted windows for her buyers.

And you were no more than another one of them, you had to remind yourself, even as slithered past her, both of your breasts briefly brushing as she allowed you entry before she followed your footsteps to the main room after bolting the door shut to as it had been. As usual you took a seat in the dusty and quaint living area as usual, her taking place opposite you as she disgustedly brushed specks off the fabric arm of the chair.

"I don't live here if that's what you're wondering." She smirked, making it undoubtedly clear that her tastes were too clean to permanently reside in a place like this. "So I'll take it you're picking up the usual?" It was the safe assumption on her part, there was no kindness in coaxing you to spend more on the grams of freedom that she rationed out for a price. Not to mention, with spare product there would no doubt be another soul that was prepared to take it off her hands.

"Yeah, please." A curt nod had the woman lounging her body to stretch so that she could pick up the complimentary medicine that she had self prescribed you for. The normal amount was visible through the small and clear baggy that carried the goods, and you immediately rushed to find the notes that would allow you to proceed in your pockets. But they were gone. Shit. This was the last thing that you needed after the day that you had endured with the whispers of thought that clouded your brain.

Panic settled over you, and thus with a dry mouth it was with wise decision that you chose to speak up. There was no point beating around the bush, after all this was your first slip up when it came to this, and you prayed to every ethereal being that it would be the last. "I seemed to have forgotten to put the cash in this jacket, would it be okay if i were to come by later to collect again?" It was embarrassing really, there was nothing that screamed being newer to the scene of all this mutual transaction than forgetting the payment.

"Trial and error one would say." Nat slouched back, dropping the bag mockingly in her lap so that you could see. "The problem is I'm not available for business later." So stupid, you thought to yourself, insulting yourself because she wouldn't for your blatant and misconducted dumb foolery. It certainly may have ben a mistake, but you were no doubt paying for it because you could not pay for what you had really wanted. With a gulp of apologetic waver of disregard, you stood on your two feet, eyeing the door as your escape.

You were just about to begin walking when the red headed conductor silenced all movement your body was ready to perform. "Uh, uh, uh." The noise of scolding that she proclaimed towards you made your heart beat a little faster, afraid that she was going to refuse future service to you altogether. However much you dreaded what she was going to say, you politely listened, intending to remain on her good side. "If you have time to spare, I don't mind being paid in other ways..."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what you mean." Maybe it was plain obliviousness to Nat's ultimatum of a suggestion, or perhaps you didn't quite believe your body's instinct to the prowess in her eyes that made your spine coil in a retrograde of quivering arousal, but you avertedly decided to play it dumb. She stood, and strode towards you like a vixen, her wide eyes scorning every inch of your vessel, humming contentedly to herself.

"Don't be so naive little y/n," her tongue peeked out from her mouth, swiping languidly across her plump bottom lip. "You'll still be a respectable woman, you'll just have to respect me too... in an intimate way." Thinking to yourself, the hunger that ran through your veins which yearned for the intoxicating compulsion of the confident redhead was strivingly eager, and the addictive stock that sold, was endless.

"W-what did you have in m-mind?" You wanted some clarification before you drowned yourself in an action that could exempt you from her clientele, even if she had been explicit, only leaving the details of prolific actions out from her spoken equation. The thumping of your heart beat within your ears, running through your bloodstream that was declining from a subsidised high, as you ogled curiously at the the woman with priceless leverage.

"We all have things we want y/n," she admitted vaguely before going into detail, "and I, in exchange want you to give me an orgasm." Her hands rubbed soothingly up your arms, her skin surprisingly cold upon your flesh. She could sense your nervousness, it was openly apparent as you shivered for both her touch and the calming rush that would absorb itself into your form.

"Okay." You spoke meekly, withholding how eager you were to persevere provocatively towards the mysterious woman. A coy smile weaved its route upon her defining features, causing your walls to flutter obscenely below where they were dressed. You'd always thought that you would be above soliciting yourself in exchange for anything, but it proved to show that you could never be certain on an agenda until you came to the crossroads of it.

Your tongue poked outside of your mouth, nervously grooming the indents and crevices at the corner of your lips, preparing yourself for what Natasha was expecting. It made you realise how little you truly knew about the woman before you, the name that she had given you to address her by may have all been a hoax, to conceal her identity from any enforcers whom bought the stronger stuff from ratting her out to the feds.

But in the predicament that you had stumbled obliviously into, you needed to be nothing more than acquainted, it wasn't love, it was just business derived from the figments of pleasure, and whilst you were allured by the pros and cons that weighed argumentatively in your mind, you couldn't help but give this instance a block from your overthinking mindset. "I'm glad to hear," she conveyed, causing a deep laughter within her chest to be released as she noticed how tense that you had become.

She liked to see you squirm, she had decided. And perhaps next time you would forget payment again, of course she wouldn't mind if your skills were up to her standards of course, and if they weren't, she would unshackle the bedroom nerves that you were enduring with her own set of amorous control. The air hung thick between the both of you as she strolled casually back towards the seat that she had already claimed prior to your arrival, sitting down and spreading her clothed legs wide.

"Come here, and make me cum." Her instructions were far too persuasive, and you couldn't refrain from doing as you were told, willingly you fell to your denim clad jeans, watching intently as Nat unbuttoned her own trousers. "I don't even need to tell you what to do." She verbally observed, pushing down the layers covering her bottom half, including her lace designed panties. Her actions served you with the view of her core, and the sight made you salivate.

A part of you felt dirty, but you procured it in an encouraging way, as this was exactly how she wanted to see you. The position that you were in made warmth flush between your legs, even more so when her drug dealing hand swept into your hair, pulling your face closer to her cunt with the harsh grip that she had. You glanced up to watch her lust drowning eyes, before you entangled your lips with her lower ones, tasting her juices on your tongue.

You ran your tongue up her slit a few times, testing the waters before you suctioned your lips around your clit, sucking on the nerve filled bud, her body being devoured by heavenly sensations. "Fuck me." Her breath cast the words out as her emerald irises became obliterated by the bleakness of her pupils, and in a way you were, and to fuck her further into the pleasure that was flooding her veins, you raised your dominant hand, tracing your fingers around her slick entrance.

With integral driven lust, you pushed one of your digits inside of her, her hand weaving tighter within your locks, and forcing your face further into her cunt. You were amidst in an overwhelming sense of reality, as you hollowed your cheeks so that you could put more pressure around her clit. Her mouth gaped open as she leant sporadically in her seat, her hips bucking into your jawline as her legs wrapped around the back of your head.

Pumping your fingers at a quicker pace, you could feel her walls contracting around you tighter, and her moans evoking to a higher pitch. Her sounds echoed around the room that was in need of more furniture, and you knew that she was getting close, and so you continued on with your actions, daring to enter another finger inside of her, which made her reach her breaking point. Her lips floundered in a silent scream, as she came around the fingers that you had stuffed inside of her.

You continued slowly with drawing out her orgasm, before you pulled back and allowed breath to be inhaled through your mouth, removing your fingers so that you had the opportunity to lick them clean. After a few minutes passed, she unravelled her legs from how they had been pressed around your skull, deciding to sit up straighter, as she glowered at you, returning to her formal confirmation.

Silently she slid her underwear and bottoms back up her legs, leaving her fly open as she watched you stand before her, almost desperately. She was almost convinced to return the favour, but that wasn't what it was, instead it was payment, and she had the professionalism to an extent to make that clear. "Pleasure doing business with you again. Here's what you wanted." She threw the baggy at you, and surprisingly to yourself, you had caught the clear packaging that was filled with your goods.

In all honesty you had forgotten all about the weed, you had fallen into a spiral of delightful passion, and you could still taste her on your lips. Now it felt awkward, she was awaiting for your departure without a doubt as she expectedly nodded towards the door. "Uh, thanks." You fumbled with the bag, finding yourself to forget your money again, with purpose, the next time that you visited her to collect.

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

I wrote this for ao3 originally. I'm working on the final part, so I thought I'd start reposting here in the meantime. I hope someone likes it. I feed on comments btw. Just leaving that there.

Ghost’d had missions go badly before… No, scratch that. He had been part of missions that had gone terribly. Some he had barely survived. A lot had failed. That just happens.

Still, he felt like shit.

He was familiar with the feeling. He didn’t understand it, though. Everyone in his team had made it out alive. Even more than that, there had been only a couple minor injuries. That was a luxury he had learned to appreciate. Yes, the target they were supposed to find and bring back to base was laying, dead, on the floor of the helicopter. It wasn’t an especially gruesome sight, either. One shot at the back, most of the blood was still wet on the floor of the enemy base. Ghost had seen people practically turned inside out; this was almost as pleasant at it could get.

He had been dragging the target. The target, because they didn’t have a name. They never did. It had been a person. A very well informed person, if he had to guess, based on the urgency to get them back. Now they were a corpse. They had made the transition in his arms. He hadn’t even realized the target had bled out until they were already flying back.

Price wasn’t going to be happy, but he knew how the job was. Casualties were expected. At least the target wasn’t in anybody else’s hands.

Ghost looked down at his own. His gloves were dirty. If he flexed his fingers, he’d feel the stickiness of the blood. He knew the feeling well enough to be certain that the burning of the cold water of the sink wouldn’t erase it.

The movement of the helicopter landing made him look up. He jumped over the body of the target and stepped out. The sun didn’t touch his skin, completely covered in military grade fabric. But he felt it nonetheless.

His eyes, used to scanning his surroundings, had found you standing at the edge of the helipad. You were right next to the medics, ready to help save the corpse he had dragged here. Suddenly, Ghost became aware of every little sore and tense spot in his body. He had always thought you were capable. Your hands were smaller than his, more delicate- everyone’s were- but still ruthless and unwavering. He took a deep breath and wondered how long it would take you to get rid of all the knots in his back.

Your neck looked pretty, too. No, not pretty. He almost shook his head. Inviting. Warm. Your blood was close to the surface there, but still hidden. Where it belonged. He tore his gloves off, struggling with the stickiness.

Ghost didn’t cry. It wasn’t a matter of pride, or toughness. He had simply forgotten how to. But he started to walk towards you and felt the heat flooding his throat. The closer he got, the smaller you looked and the more pathetic he felt. His boots dragged him across the cement; yours were steady, still. Clean. He was covered in dirt. Another step and he was almost at arms reach. His uniform was itchy. He hadn’t noticed that since he was a rookie. And his holsters were tight, Ghost made sure of that.

Would you hold him tighter?

Would you be warm? Warmer than the target? You’d feel alive.

You’d smell of your shampoo- he had grown used to its fragrance in the showers: it lingered and overpowered his unscented one, even if you had left hours ago. It reminded him of warm, cleansing water. Of the feeling of being bare.

He shook his head. The mask was getting uncomfortable. Your skin looked so soft, though. He blinked. Your collarbone against his lashes. The idea made him inhale deeply.

Another step and he was next to you. You smiled at him; not a big smile, rather a small, confused one. Ghost stared at you for a second, the tears stabbing his throat. All he could do, head ducking as if aiming to hide in your neck, was to shake his head.

Then another step and he kept walking to his barracks: back still tense, nose still burning with the smell of gunpowder, hands itching with dry blood.

Part 2

[the-californicationist]

he swims with you

You and Price had a complicated relationship. You’d been sneaking around together, secretly, for months. None of the other soldiers knew about your hidden tryst, and Price wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want them to lose respect for either of you, so you had helped him keep it under wraps.

Lately, Sergeant MacTavish had been cozying up to you a little too much. He’d give you compliments on your sparring techniques, and he’d even let you win one every now and then, especially if it meant that he got to pin you in a compromising position on the next round. You could tell that he liked you, that much was obvious, and it drove the captain absolutely to the edge of his sanity. 

Your team had just captured the mansion of a Saudi drug dealer who had turned to selling military-grade weapons, and while you were waiting for exfil, you decided to enjoy this bastard’s million dollar pool.

When Johnny started flirting with you on the pool deck, fully within sight and earshot of Price, you decided to test the limits of that sanity a bit. You started to play along with the Scot, and you watched as Price’s face turned bright red with rage. His expression, though, remained amused and calm. Underneath, you could tell he was coming absolutely unmade.  

“Woah, Johnny, have you been working out more? Your chest looks enormous. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t seen you shirtless in a while,” you flirted as the sergeant stepped into the pool to join you. 

Ghost had his legs in the water, his pants rolled up, sitting on the edge and reading operation briefs on his datapad. Gaz was sitting on a ledge in the pool next to him, watching you and Soap swim around in the gigantic lagoon. Soap beamed at your compliment, swimming up next to you,

“Yeah, lass, I have been. Thanks for noticing. Hit three plates for five yesterday on my bench.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at his obvious preening, but you saw John’s expression and decided to double down,

“Can I feel?”

“Aye, sure,” Soap was practically buzzing from the attention and praise. 

You reached out your hand, swimming around him so his back was facing the hot tub, and you could see Price over his shoulder. You locked eyes with the captain for a moment and then lay your hand softly on McTavish’s chest,

“Wow, Sergeant. I’m impressed. You might even be strong enough to throw me across the pool!”

“Definitely am, bonnie. See?” He took the bait, grabbing you around the waist and tossing you effortlessly out of the water. 

You squealed in mid-air, trying to pretend to be helpless, and then, just as you crashed below the surface, you untied the neck of the bikini you’d found in the mansion’s bedroom, letting the fabric fall away from your breasts. As quickly as you could, you covered yourself with your arm and came back to the surface, gasping, eyes wide,

“Oh, shit! Soap, can you help me? I think I lost my top.”

Gaz and Ghost were deep in conversation, talking about something on the datapad, but Price was honed in to your charade. Soap looked over at him, a rakish grin on his face, sharing some sort of boy’s club look. He covered his mouth with his hand in mock shock and said, 

“Uh oh, Corporal. Tha’s a true predicament, that is.”

He wasn’t planning on diving to the bottom to retrieve your suit, and just when you thought you’d been backed into a corner, Price’s huge, hulking body rose up out of the hot tub, steaming and pink, and he dove into the cool water of the pool in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, his heavy cock and balls hanging in the wet fabric. He swam to the bottom of the pool like a fish, fast and precise. As he came back, he swam right up next to you, stalking you like a shark, getting himself between you and Johnny. Price had the suit in his hand and held it up,

“Turn around, Corporal,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You turned toward the now-empty hot tub, held your hair out of his way with your hands, and felt him drape the triangles over your chest, waiting for you to place them in position. You did so, and felt his warm fingers knotting the string at the neck. However, the band of the suit tied in the front, so when he went to tie it, you spun back into him, your hands still in your hair. He had a smug look on his face, and as he tied a little bow in front, he dared to adjust the top, swiping a finger pad over your soft nipple, making you suck in a breath. 

“There you are,” he purred, “No harm done.” 

Based on the expression of his face, you got the sense that there would be quite a bit of harm done to you - specifically your tender backside - the moment you were back on base. 

[moody-alcoholic]

Freaky Friday

+18 MDNI explicit content

You know the drill I write porn on Fridays. I don't know where my alcohol fueled brain was going with the first draft of this. I cleaned it up and well It's smut. Pretty vanilla sexy times but yeah... I will probably expand this into a full bonus chapter when I have time, with a dinner date and more smut.

Ghoap x reader, established relationship, 2.2k words.

CW: +18 MDNI explicit content Smut, sex, Oral (M&F receiving), fingering, PiV sex, mouth/throat fucking (kinda).

Masterlist - The Missing Link

Enjoy ya filthy animals <3

You walk out the bathroom into the bedroom shaking your head laughing at yourself before opening the door. Johnny is kneeling on the bed rubbing Simon’s shoulders, they both turn looking at you. Simon looks you up and down before chuckling and rubbing his neck. Johnny has the biggest grin you think you’ve ever seen on his face.

“I’m so sick nurse,” He says crawling to the end of the bed. Simon laughs grabbing the bottom of his top and pulling him back. You smile at him watching his face smash into the bedding.

“I can’t believe you got this,” you say looking down at the skimpy nurses uniform that barely covers you. You can’t believe you put it on.

“You know I could have just worn my actual uniform.” You say pointing at the blue blazer neatly folded on the chest of drawers.

“Can’t rip that off you though can we?” Johnny says winking.

“You’ve clearly never seen A&E on a Saturday night.” You chuckle.

“Where did you even get it from anyway?” You ask running your hands over the baby pink fabric.

“Amazon.” Johnny says.

“You’re missing out the part where you had it shipped to Price’s office.” Simon says scoffing.

“Oh yeah, he was really mad about that.” Johnny has that cheeky grin on his face. He knew what he was doing.

“So what do you want to do?” Simon asks. You shrug, they bought the outfit, even if it was a gag gift.

“It’s your birthday love we’ll do whatever you want.” Johnny says raising an eyebrow. You shrug again. You wish you could have been more prepared then maybe you’d have an idea of what you wanted to do. Could have got toys involved or something. Now you’re just standing there looking at them.

Johnny pats the bed next to him gesturing for you to sit. You smile crawling into the bed as you sit between them. Simon turns as Johnny’s hand immediately starts running up your thigh. You spread your legs, leaning over to kiss him.

This is what you need nothing fancy just some good old fashioned sex. Simon’s arm runs up your back to your neck, it sends shivers down your spine. You pull away from Johnny laying back on the bed. Simon stands up pulling his shirt off looking down at you as you feel Johnny slip between your legs.

Maybe you should just let them do what they want and you’ll lay there and take it. They always seem to know what to do, how to touch you and make sure you’re all having a good time. Simon unbuckling his belt pulls your head to look at him. You’re laid on the side of the bed as you feel Johnny’s tongue slip between your folds immediately finding it’s way to your clit.

Your head tips back and you moan as he wraps his lips around it giving it a suck. Simon’s hand comes down and sips under the thin fabric of the costume, his thumb brushes over you nipple, sending vibrations down your body. You want his cock, you turn to look at him, you could suck him off right here while Johnny’s is busy. You reach your hand out to Simon’s crotch, he only took his belt of, guess he got distracted you can feel his bulge in his pants. He see’s what you’re doing slipping his free hand down and drops his pants so you can reach into his boxers and pull his cock free.

You run your hand down the shaft, your mouth filling with saliva as he shifts his body to align with your head. You move closer to the edge as Johnny wines in protest, he looks up momentarily to see what you’re doing. You look down at him and smile, before he goes back down he hitches one of your legs over his shoulder turning your body so it’s angled towards Simon more.

Johnny watches you for a few seconds as Simon brings the tip to your mouth. You look up at him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. You don’t know what that does to him but he makes a noise you’ve never heard before as his expression changes.

Johnny chuckles as he shuffles back between your legs. You want to tell him to get back to what he was doing. You miss his hot tongue massaging your clit. Simon guides his cock in your mouth slowly, he pushes it in further and further testing to see how deep he can go. You try to take him as deep as you can waiting till he hits your gag reflex before squeezing round him.

You’ve all but forgotten about Johnny just sat between your legs watching until you feel him insert a finger. You moan on Simon’s cock and he imminently inserts another. God it feels good, his fingers curling up inside you as his tongue goes back to massaging your clit. You have to close your eyes to keep from cuming especially with Simon’s hands squeezing your breasts and running his fingers over your nipples.

So many sensations and you’re just laying there taking it all. This is definitely what you needed. You thought you would be used to feeling them both pleasure you at the same time, but you find yourself rushing to the edge moaning more and more round Simon’s cock. You can tell he likes it his other hand finding it’s way to the back of your head, holding it in place while he thrusts in deeper each time. Whenever he hits your gag reflex you clamp down holding your breath so you don’t choke, blinking away tears

Johnny’s fingers and tongue have been gradually working quicker to the point where you could cum at any point. You don’t want to though you want to ride the feeling for as long as possible. Although, it’s like they mentally communicate with each other, knowing when to slow down or speed up, you’re not in control anymore you reach down gripping Johnny’s hair.

It’s the only warning you give before you cum. Your thighs squeezing together as Simon pulls out your mouth letting you moan and call Johnny’s name. He bends down brushing the hair out your face and kissing you as you relax your legs from round Johnny.

“Want to go again?” Johnny calls, you break from the kiss to look down at him, still trying to catch your breath. You nod.

“Good, ‘cause I really want to fuck you.” Johnny says jumping off the bed. Simon chuckles, you look at him his fingers tracing your face.

“What about you?” You ask him as Johnny strips. He smiles.

“I’m perfectly fine with this amazing mouth of yours, and these beautiful tits.” He says squeezing one in his hand. You smile as he leans in to kiss you again. You feel Johnny climb back on the bed. Simon stands up as Johnny pulls you closer to him, he kneels down, his hands gripping your waist.

You’re basically still on your side slightly, Johnny pulls your hips up to align with his hips, he’s basically holding you up. It’s an interesting position, but it means you’re at the perfect angle to pleasure Simon without having to turn your head. Your neck will thank you later you’re sure. Simon moves positing himself by your mouth as he strokes his cock, he doesn’t wait for Johnny to be finished pressing the tip to your lips.

You open for him looking up at him as he presses it in moving his hand to run through your hair. Johnny’s fingers rub against your entrance as you hold your breath expecting him to push one in. He doesn’t instead coating his fingers in your slick before you hear him rub it on his length.

He moans as he’s doing it, it’s like music to your ears making your pussy flutter as you wait to feel him line up with your entrance. He doesn’t wait much longer as he starts teasing you with his tip, he goes slow pushing into you ever so slightly. You want to move your body press up against him and take him deeper. You can’t move though without moving for Simon, who’s keeping your head locked in place. You have to settle for being teased, and Johnny knows it bringing a thumb up to press down on your clit making you moan and clench down on him. You hear him chuckle, bastard.

You look up at Simon, who’s hand is still running through your hair gripping it, his other hand tugging on your nipple. He looks down at you smiling, you can see his eyes glossed over, his hand drops from your head to stroke your cheek. Johnny is still teasing you it’s almost unbearable, you let out a frustrated moan as he pulls out of you completely, making you feel empty.

“Be nice Johnny it’s her birthday.” Simon says looking down at him.

“Okay.” You hear Johnny say defeated, normally you wouldn’t mind Johnny teasing you a bit but Simon’s been doing such a good job with your mouth and breasts, you’re desperate to feel him inside of you.

You don’t get much warning, as Johnny thrusts himself in, you almost yelp the motion is so quick. His thumb doesn’t leave your clit rubbing in circles, pressing it down as he thrusts inside you. You turn your attention back to Simon as your mouth fills with saliva, the blowjob turning into a sloppy mess as he starts to become more desperate. Testing you again to see how far he can push your limit, you let him, as he brushes the tear escaping from your eye away. You try to smile but he pushes in deep almost too deep as a long moan escapes his mouth. Christ, that sounds good.

You’re barely thinking now your body being touched to the point of over stimulation. Johnny’s started moving faster his fingers digging into your ass, his thumb still pressing on your swollen clit, it’s almost too much. You don’t even care about the gargled moans coming out your mouth, the ones you know send vibrations up Simon’s cock as he fucks your mouth. He’s close you can tell. He has to keep stopping, each time twitching in your mouth and taking a breath. You could be mean, press your tongue on the underside and pushing him over the edge but you don’t, letting him take a second instead.

“Christ love, the noises coming from you.” Johnny says. You can’t see him but you feel him getting faster, his grip tighter. You’re too blissed out to care, clenching round him as he bounces against your cervix. You’re really close, between Simon’s moans and Johnny’s constant stream of praise and ‘good girls,’ it’s enough to distract you from being able to stop yourself. You should let yourself enjoy this, it is your birthday after all.

At least Johnny warns you before he cums. Squeezing your ass and moaning your name, his thumb flicking your clit sending you over the edge as you cum too. You arch your back trying to keep your head still. It’s no use though, Johnny keeps you firmly in place moving his arm to grip your hip and stop you from moving as he throbs inside of you. Simon doesn’t give you any warning, thrusting his dick down your throat, making you gag as he spills into you. You squeeze your eyes shut holding your breath so you don’t choke. Simon pulls out your mouth slowly, letting you swallow his load sucking in a gasp of air.

“Jesus Si, trying te kill her?” Johnny chuckles as you sit up, wiping the saliva drooling down your face.

“She can take it.” Simon says leaning over and kissing you on the head. You take the praise looking up at Johnny and smiling.

“You didn’t ruin the dress.” You say looking down at it still intact.

“Save it for next time,” Johnny winks. “We’ll do a little bit of roleplay, re-enact the first time we met.” Simon sighs next to you as he bends down to find his clothes. You roll your eyes crawling over to kiss him. He wraps his arms round you pulling him on top of him.

“Johnny!” You protest wriggling in his grip.

“Nice sexy medic taking care of us.” He says planting little kisses all over your face.

“You should be dressing up too then.” You tease him.

“Okay, I will, Simon will too.” He winks.

“No I bloody won’t.” He says leaving the bedroom. You chuckle resting your head on Johnny’s chest.

“Let’s get cleaned up, then me and Si are taking you out somewhere nice for dinner.” He says stroking your back. You smile, turning your head to look up at him.

“Let’s just lay here for a bit.” You say, he looks at you and nods wrapping his arms back round you and squeezing you tight.

[b1rds3ye]

Radio Silence

The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.

Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code) Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)

Captain John Price

The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).

When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.

And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.

Price hates how good his intuition can be.

“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”

With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.

“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”

“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”

“Al-Qatala?”

“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”

“Breeze, what are you seeing?”

“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.

“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”

He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.

“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”

He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.

“Bravo 1-5-”

There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.

Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.

“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.

“I’m sorry, Price.”

“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.

“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”

“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”

Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.

“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”

Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.

He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.

“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”

He waits for a moment.

“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”

The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.

Silence.

Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has. 

Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.

Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.

“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."

With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.

The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.

When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”

Laswell’s voice rings out.

“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”

“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”

“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”

“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”

Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.

“... and I intend to deliver.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.

Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.

Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.

“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”

“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”

He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.

“How long do you think I’d last?”

“One hour at most.”

“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”

“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”

As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.

“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”

“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”

Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.

“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”

There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.

“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”

“Stay frosty, Breeze.”

“Got it, Simon.”

Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already?  Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.

It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.

“Breeze, head back to exfil.”

“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”

If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.

“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”

“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”

Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.

“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”

“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”

“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”

The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.

“Breeze? How copy?”

The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.

“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”

Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.

“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”

Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.

But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.

“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”

But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.

“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.

“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”

“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”

“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.

The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.

The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you’re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[vgilantee]

John shares his pretty little wife with his team (except the whole team other than price is trans)

~✧

sending "show hole" to the 141 group chat and getting johnny and Simon's cunts, gaz's cunt and asshole (he put effort in for you) and price's ass, his cock hanging heavy between his legs

>> thanks lovers 💋

and the video has the wettest most obscene sounds John has ever heard from you. you'd added lube and everything because you want to get them all wet and leaking.

you are whimpering and moaning and gasping and begging out please.

in return you get videos of gaz and johnny fingering themselves, and a lovely close up of John fucking simon, glob of spit on his cunt. it rudely cuts off before you get to see simon cum

jounny and kyle look so pretty grinding against each other's hands.

their video ends with gaz pulling his fingers out of johnny and flipping him over so they can grind their cunts together. you see a lovely shot of johnny taking his fingers out and gaz's pierced clit twitching

~✧

you get home one day and see four pairs of boots neatly by the door, your husband's on the rack and the rest tucked out of the way. home early, and they didn't tell you!

and you can hear john's voice so you follow it through the house, curious when it sounds like it's coming from your bedroom. and oh what a sight he has laid out for you

all three of his men, naked and laying on your bed, puffy, wet cunts on display. John in his boxers - the grey ones you love, always end up sucking his cock through the fabric when he wears them - with the clear outline of his hard cock, dark spot of pre smeared across the front.

johnny sees you and whines, nails digging into simon and gaz's stomachs on either side of him. John saunters up to you like you don't have three of the prettiest cunts you've ever seen waiting for you, kisses you softly and smiles.

"want to give them a feel before you pick, love?"

and if one of them (*cough* johnny *cough*) moves to hold your head against their cunt, John smacks his hand, then his clit, before putting a hand on your neck to guide you away from the offenders cunt.

"told you the rules. hands to yourselves until she's finished having her fun with you."

while your fingertips graze over the stretch marks on Simon's inner thighs, lightly lapping at his clit before watching his cunt flutter as you collect the slick dribbling down to his ass, price pats your ass before turning to look at gaz

"put some fingers in soap's pussy, gaz, if he's so desperate. don't move them though, just fill 'im and let him fuck your hand." he then leans back and kisses between your shoulder blades, moving your hair out if your way so you can keep playing with simon "no touching soap until he cums on kyle's hand, okay love?" and you hum and nod, mouth still working at simon who is being such a good boy, keeping his hands scratching at his thighs and not touching you

while you're there lapping at simon, it's truly you playing. exploring. letting price watch you wiggle your ass as you excitedly taste the lieutenant, sucking harshly at his clit as he cums

hopping off the bed, leaning over johnny's cunt to let spit fall of your tongue, before climbing back onto the bed between gaz's legs to play with him. running your fingers lightly over his clit, tracing his piercing, running your tongue slowly from his asshole up to his bottom growth

price loves watching you play, loves watching you wriggling your ass for him, so he can see how much you enjoy tasting his men, he loves the way you preen under his attention while being satisfied with the moans and gasps from the guys.

in his eyes he's not just sharing his pretty wife with his men, but he's giving you new toys to play with

~✧

I'm totally normal

[puppyguppy]

You've been down this damn aisle way too long. Despite not having actually checked the time, you just know it. You can feel it. You've seen others come and go; grab what they need, like a pillow or some new sheets, then leave. But not you. Since apparently, choosing a new mattress has solidified itself as a life or death sort of situation inside of your head. It shouldn't have been this hard -- wouldn't be this hard, if you hadn't seen the sale going on. They're offering the next size up for the price of the next size down. So, like -- you could get a king, for the price of the queen you'd come here for. You've almost always had a queen, at least since being a teenager. And a queen is fine, a queen is good, just enough space for you to roll around some, pick a cooler side if need be, with a corner or two left open for the pet you might actually own someday. All in all, a queen is perfect, so really, there's no need to upsize. You've never even considered it until now. It just seems kind of stupid to turn down such a deal. More comfort, for less? But then...you'll need new sheets. A new comforter. A new duvet. Hell, might as well just get a whole new set for the whole new mattress, right? And, it doesn't make much sense to put old pillows on a new bed, so -- "They never tell you that beds will be one of your biggest battles in adulthood." You jolt, startled out of your spiraling thoughts by a deep, rich mumble. You hadn't noticed the man you've been sharing the aisle with for...gods, you hope it wasn't long. Long enough for him to piece together the puzzle of your struggle, though. You shake off the little scare with a laugh, the feeling only lingering in the goosebumps down your arms. "It wasn't supposed to be this hard. I came here with a plan, believe it or not." The stranger hums, and while he seems to peruse the options, you take a quick few seconds to, well. Peruse him. Tall, dark, and handsome is the gist. Wavy hair thrown half up his head, like maybe he'd been in a hurry, or working out, or just woken up. A bit unkempt, but not unattractive. Stalky, scruffy, and decked out in all colors almost black despite the season. At least they seem loose, everywhere except for where his hands are shoved into his pockets, straining the fabric slightly, and you can't help but wonder -- "One should always have a Plan B. Even maybe C through Z." You laugh again, because really, this is ridiculous, and you should just grab the goddamn bed you'd come here for. Mattresses shouldn't require complex mathematics, an entire alphabet's worth of backup plans, or the entire length of the human emotional spectrum. "Yeah, yeah," you huff, now a bit embarrassed. You're a grown ass adult and yet you feel like you've just been scolded by a highschool teacher or something. "The sale just caught me off guard. I don't want to regret it if I just settle for a queen and miss the chance. Besides, if I get a king and don't like it, I can always just return it, right?" The man shrugs. "Or you could save yourself the trouble. It's not like your room is big enough for a king." You laugh for a third time, because oh, oh my god, he's right. Here you've been fretting and stressing (and honestly? sweating) over beds, when really, there was never a choice. There was just the illusion of choice. You got excited over a sale, about the possibility of an upgrade, and completely forgot about the very real dimensions of your bedroom. And why you've stuck with a queen. "Fuck, you're so right. I couldn't possibly fit a -" You stop. You stop and blink. Because he is right. The goosebumps from just minutes ago shoot straight down to your toes. You swallow, saliva thickening in your throat like cement. "...How do you know that?"

[mikeyhyy]

After 30 years... (Ford × Male reader)part 1

This is Ford × Male Reader, this story takes place in the year the series takes place. The reader and Ford had a relationship, but it ended because of Bill (I can write a story explaining this part if you want). The reader is 50 years old, he was 20 when he met Ford.

I don't write for female readers so don't even try to ask if it's for a female reader.

ATTENTION: Chapter not revised

______________________________________________

How long has it been since you last seen Ford? 30 years? He just disappeared after the breakup and you don't know where he was, when you broke up it was a very strange breakup because Ford had a different voice and different colored eyes when he simply said he wanted to break up with you, but then they called you a few days ago and who had a female voice that sounded extremely excited and she said that Ford wanted to see you, but it sounded like a voice that was too young to be his wife or something. Now you are in front of the door of the 'Mystery Shack' is that the new name they gave it? Do you remember that Ford never commercialized his discoveries because that was not what he wanted.

You are currently in your fifties and you really are in the best state because you were only twenty when you dated Ford, you were young and naive and he scientist who lived in the isolated cabin in the forest. You actually found the whole mystery very attractive and he found you very attractive too so it came to that.

You only heard from Ford after the break up when you saw a newspaper headline showing him practically drunk in a bar, you realized he was with those same different eyes and decided to stop caring. But that didn't happen and you've been trying to hear from him for the last 30 years.

You squeeze the fabric of his jeans tightly and it feels like a lump has formed in your throat until you wait for a moment until you get the courage, you take a deep breath before finally opening the front door of the store and you enter the store.

Your eyes analyze the store for a moment, you see the absurd prices of strange things that if you have at least two neurons you realize are fake and it doesn't take long so that you heard an excited voice. "Are you the (name)?!" The girl with long brown hair halfway down her back, dressed in a skirt that was a little long to her knees and a very striking sweater, she had a smile on her face which showed her appearance. "Wow, Great uncle Ford was right when he said you're very handsome." The girl speaks again looking very excited, but the boy next to her stares at you even more curiously and he looked like a male version of her, but quieter and he had shorter hair, wore an orange t-shirt, dark blue vest, shorts up to the knee and a cap with a blue brim and blue sides with a blue pine tree.

"Yes, I'm (name)…" You say and put your hands in your pants pockets so as not to show that you're a little nervous, the girl asks you a billion questions and then you see the snack machine moving out of place and being pushed as if it were a door. The one who leaves there is the man who, even though he broke up with you years ago, never left your heart because he was your first love and you were the first love of his life and this is obvious because he drops whatever was in his heart. his hand the moment he sees you.

He looks at you from top to bottom, you've aged very well from his perspective, in fact from a general perspective, you still have a well-built body and your skin hasn't lost much collagen as it is normal for your age and you look so good.

But you can't help but look passionately at Ford, he doesn't look bad either and the gray hair makes him even more attractive in your opinion and he seemed to be in great condition physical. He has become even more handsome, it seems that time has only been good for him.

"(Name)…" Ford's voice sounds almost inaudible, he is so surprised, he runs his hand through his own gray hair with a slightly trembling hand and he can’t seem to believe you’re standing right in front of him after so many years. You look great, his heart beats fast when he looks at you and he can see in your eyes the man he has loved for years even if he has tried his best to forget you in the last few years in which he has passed through different dimensions.

Silence goes on for a few minutes before finally being cut off by the girl in the sweater. "So, it looks like you guys have a lot to talk about and the best way to talk alone is maybe to go out there or whatever older people do when they want a moment alone." She says and looks more thoughtful at the end as she scratches her own chin with a thoughtful expression.

Ford's cheeks get a little red and he motions for you to follow him to the basement because it's no secret to you what's there Inside, you follow him and when you enter he closes the 'door' and you go down the stairs to the bottom. As you go down you see those same screens, buttons and machines so you know that Ford is still the same Ford that you met years ago and won your heart.

(Continues in part 2…)

______________________________________________

I hope you liked it, my creativity ran out at the end and I decided to post a part two for their conversation.

[miniwheat77]

Cologne. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, p in v sex, reader pining after Price, brief mentions of masturbation(f), age gap, unprotected sex, (sorry if I missed any.)

(forgive me this isn't edited.)

He drove you crazy. His sweet smile. His huge hands. Cargo pants that squeezed his thighs just right. The fact that he wore cologne even though it wasn’t always allowed in the military, not to mention whatever fucking Cologne it was smelled amazing.

You ended up on the task force by chance. You were only in your 20's, but you tested really well. Laswell and John happened to be on the base you were on because of a medical emergency of one of the extra members on the task force. He was injured badly enough to the point he’d be unable to aid in anymore missions. They were both talking when they came across you sparring with a couple of other soldiers, seeing how quick you were on your feet, deciding to watch you when it came to shooting and stealth too.

For how young you were, you were a good soldier. It was John who made the first move. He found your Commander and asked to recruit you.

He didn’t mind, he knew it would be a great opportunity for you. Since you were a good soldier he knew you would do great. John and Laswell offered you the position and you didn’t hesitate to accept it. The first time John approached you, he introduced himself as Captain Price and shook your hand. His grip made you weak in the knees. His hands were massive and his smile was fucking adorable. It was the ride back with him and Kate that changed everything for you. His toned stomach showed through his shirt as he drove, hands on the steering wheel. He talked through gritted teeth at the mention of the wounded soldier who would be let go from the task force. He cared about his people.

Needless to say it was uncomfortable ride back to the base. You shifted uncomfortably a lot. Heat pooling between your legs. An uncomfortable knot in your lower stomach. This was only the first of many restless days and nights you would experience on base.

When you arrived, everyone welcomed you with open arms. You settled in just fine, you even enjoyed it more than the last base you were on. It did feel a little odd that you were the youngest on base, but you didn’t mind the teasing. Captain Price took you under his wing immediately. Anytime you were down or acting different than usual, he was asking you how you were. If everything was okay, he treated you like you were his daughter and you hated it. You wanted to be closer to him, you wanted to be with him.

The sleepless nights, distracted shifts, the hurt feelings you always had. It was too much.

You were on laundry for a while. You were washing everything. Bedding, clothes. Everything.

Laundry was easy. Load them up, and wait. Your hands glided across a piece of fabric, the familiar deep gray shirt you’d seen him wearing. You swallowed hard, looking around before bringing it up to your nose. His cologne still fresh on it. The scent of it alone sends chills up your spine. You tuck it into a clean sheet and set it there for a moment. You felt dirty for taking his things, but the thought of it alone drives you crazy. Once you finish the laundry, you rush to your room. Once you’re inside, you lock the door behind you.

You can’t help it as you lay back, bringing it up to your nose, fingers dancing across your bare thigh. Moving lower to where you needed it. His scent throws you into another world, eyes rolling back.

When you finish, you have to return to doing laundry, like nothing happened. This becomes a normal thing. Taking his clothes.

The scent of him always pushes you over the edge.

You like to imagine his body weight on you, pinning you down as he ruts his hips into you, deep inside of you. Reaching places untouched by another. The chills that rise on your skin at the thought of it, shivers moving through you. You don’t know how much you can take before you burst. You feel like a freak, a pervert. Constantly worried that he’ll find out what you’re doing and be disgusted by your actions. You don’t want to feel like this, but can’t help it. He invades your thoughts like a plague, an illness. You’re obsessed and it’s sickening how easy he’s trapped your mind.

You’re completely spaced out, staring down at the sheet in your hands. You don’t hear anyone coming. Not until a hand is on your shoulder and you’re jumping. “Woah!” He mumbles. “You alright darling?”

“W-wha- yeah. Yeah I’m good.” You breathe. “I was talking to you but you weren’t replying. Is everything okay?” He asks. “Y-yeah. It’s fine. I was just.. spacing out. Didn’t sleep well.” John can see the small beads of sweat forming at your hairline. Something is stressing you out. “I can finish the laundry if you wanted to get some rest.” He tries to soothe you with a hand on your shoulder. Seeing the way you freeze up when he touches you. “I’m alright. I’m almost done anyways.” You smile nervously. “Okay. If you’re sure. I was just going to ask, have you seen my army green shirt? I thought I put it in the wash the other day but haven’t seen it.” He asks. You need to come up with something, and quick. “Umm. I think I did see it yeah. I might’ve mixed it up with someone else’s, I’ll keep an eye out for it.” You smile. The thought of you burying your face into the fabric, cumming hard around your fingers fills your mind. “Okay. Thank you Y/N.” He smiles. You nod your head with a small smile. When he’s gone, you breathe out a sigh of relief.

You quickly finish the laundry, heading toward your room.

You didn’t know it, but he knew.

You left your door cracked, in a hurry to get to that shirt of his that you loved so much. The cologne was starting to fade away from it and you knew that you needed to wash it and give it back soon. He happened to be passing by, thought he’d check on his new recruit. He sure as hell didn’t expect to see you, fingers knuckle deep in your pussy with his shirt up to your nose.

He figured it was a crush, thought it would go away with time. But every single day around the same time. Your door was closed and locked. He knew what you were doing behind that door. Especially when his clothes would disappear for a couple days before reappearing. He liked the game. He liked to see how nervous you got around him. He didn’t know why out of everyone on base you could’ve liked, you chose him. But he liked it. Some days, he wanted to confess to you that he knew what you were doing. Just to see those red blushing cheeks, that little stutter you do. He had a plan. He like your little game, so he'd play along.

“Hey, will you drop my clothes into my room for me? I’ve got a meeting here in a minute.” He peeks into the laundry room. “Yes sir.” You swallow hard. “Good girl.”

He wants to chuckle at the way your body goes rigid as he says those words, but doesn’t. He makes his way back to his room, closing his door and waiting.

When he hears your footsteps coming a while later, he waits behind his door. You come inside, he can tell you’re nervous. It’s your Captains room, of course you’re nervous. You place his clothes down on his bed and this is when he pushes the door closed with his foot. When it slams behind you, you whirl around. Your eyes are wide, lips are parted slightly. “Jesus.” You sigh. Placing your hand on your chest. “You scared me.” You laugh. Your heart thumps hard in your ribcage. He smiles, his arms are crossed. “See you’re finished with my gray shirt, which are you going to take next hm? The one I’ve got on?” He smiles. He can see the way your blood runs cold. Eyes wide. “I- what?”

He laughs, stepping closer, watching the way you step back away from him. “I know what you’re doing with my clothes darling.” You keep quiet, swallowing hard.

“I just don’t understand, why me huh?” He laughs. “Aren’t I old enough to be your dad?” Your cheeks are burning and your eyes are everywhere but on his. “I…” you start. But your lips form to a line. If you could crawl into a hole and die, that’d be best case scenario. He moves closer to you. His arms still crossed as he closes in on you. “Do you get off on that hm? That I’m so much older than you? There’s something about me that gets you going, it can’t just be cologne.” You’re so embarrassed and cornered, you want to run away and disappear off of the face of the earth. Your eyes flicker to the door beside him and he laughs. “You going to run from me? That won’t fix this." He laughs. Moving in closer. "If you run, I'll just catch you." He mumbles it quietly.

You swallow hard.

The backs of your knees are pushed up against the metal frame of the cot he’s sleeping on. A gasp leaving your lips when he pushes you back onto it. You sit up quickly, staring up at him. “Cmon, cat got your tongue? Say something.” He chuckles. You pause for a moment. “I- I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.” Your voice is quiet and unsteady. He bites his lip slightly. “How about.. a thank you.” He smirks, making you look up at him in confusion. “What?”

“For letting you borrow my shirts. For all of those orgasms you got from me without me even touching you. Go on.” He nods, a smile on his face. “Thank me.”

You look up at him, the look in your eyes is pure sin. “T-thank you, Captain.” You blush. He moves right up to the edge of the cot, closing you in. “That’s my good girl.” He breathes. “Take your shirt off.” He nods. “W-what?” You look up at him. “Come on, take it off. That’s an order, darling.”

You look at his door nervously. “It’s locked. Pay attention.” He breathes. Lifting your chin up to look at him. The look in your eyes, it’s pure lust. It always is when you’re looking at him. It drives him crazy. You hesitate for a second. Grasping the hem of your shirt, nervously lifting it over your head. “Bra too.”

You sit up further, unclasping it and sliding it off. Setting it down. You take in a sharp breath when he pulls his shirt off. “Put it on.” He tosses it to you. You pick up the very comfortable fabric. Slipping it over your head. The smell of his cologne invades your senses. A whine leaving your lips. He laughs. “Don’t worry darling. I’ll give you what you need.” He breathes. He lowers himself down to one knee at the edge of the bed. Helping you remove your pants. Revealing you to him once he’s gotten them off. He sighs. “So fucking pretty.” He mumbles. Running his fingers up your slit, feeling you shiver under his touch. “How.. how did you find out?” You look down at him. His thumb circles over your clit.

“Passed by your room when you were meant to be in the laundry room. You left your door cracked, in such a hurry.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Knuckle deep in this pretty pussy to the thought of me.” He shakes his head, leaning into you. Pressing a kiss to your clit, smiling when you shudder. He kisses it again, sliding his tongue over you. Your thighs shiver slightly, and he smiles, wrapping his arms around you and holding you still, moving his other leg so that he’s on his knees at the edge of the bed. Gliding his tongue through your folds. “You have to be quiet for me. Use the shirt.” He smirks. You nod your head. Lifting the fabric up to your mouth to muffle yourself. He laps at your entrance, keeping a steady pace with his tongue. You focus on the ceiling of his room. He starts slow at first. Gentle, small glides of his tongue. Waiting for you to get used to him. He knows you don’t have much experience, if any. So you’re going to be really sensitive at first. He gives you a minute to adjust to him. Eventually flattening his tongue and pushing down hard, flicking his tongue faster. You shudder, thighs clenching up tight. He holds you still though, you’re not going to squirm out of his grasp that easily.

He pulls away for a second, his facial hair glistening in your arousal. He can’t help but chuckle at the way you react to him. Flushed cheeks, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead. "Doing good for me darling. Can you take more?" He asks. You nod your head. He raises his right hand, gliding one of his fingers over your opening. He gathers up your arousal on it before pressing it into you. You tense up at the intrusion, gasping into the shirt. He lowers his face into you again, tonguing your clit. He adds another finger while he laps at your clit. You wrap a hand in his hair, tugging slightly. You whine out when he groans into you. He can feel you tightening around his fingers, you're getting close. Your thighs shake and he can't help but smile into you. Right when you're on that edge, right about to topple over the ledge into pure bliss, he pulls away. Drawing a mewl out of you. He can't help but laugh. Looking down at you as he stands up. "Relax, I'll give you more." He breathes. He starts kicking off his boots, reaching for his belt buckle. That's when it starts to hit you, he's going to fuck you.

He finally takes a second to drink you in. Your cheeks are flushed red and you look dazed. You look fucked out and he hasn't even fucked you yet. He frees himself from his cargo pants and you swallow hard. He's well endowed.

He moves you with ease, like you're a feather. Turning you so that he has space to move between your legs. He runs his hand back through his hair and you clamp your eyes closed.

He looks confused. "You alright darling?" He asks. "Yes. Just... overwhelmed." You breathe. "Do you want me to stop?" He asks.

"No, please." Your pleas have him chuckling to himself. His deep laugh sends chills down your spine. Like he's making fun of you for being so desperate. "Good girl." He raises your thighs up higher on his hips and lines himself up with your entrance, dipping the head of his cock into you. Seeing the way your eyes widen. Letting your head rest back into his pillow. His entire room smells like him. His sheets, his pillow. Him.

You can't help it as you wrap your legs around him, forcing his pelvis into you. Until he's pressed right up against you. "Fuck-" He gasps. The sudden feeling of you wrapped around him has him gasping out.

"Eager little thing aren't you?" He smiles. Running his thumb along your bottom lip. He rocks his hips into you and all at once it hits you. All of those day dreams you'd had of the way he'd feel, didn't even come close to as good as this felt. His touch lit fires on your skin. Your walls clenched around him, feeling every inch of him, every vein.

He picks up his pace, sliding deeper. You gasp out, clutching onto him. He shakes slightly, the way you're gripping him is almost too much to hold himself together. He grits his teeth, holding onto your hips tight as he rocks his hips into you. He forces you down into the bed with each hard thrust he takes, watching fall further apart beneath him. "Fuck... So good. You feel so fucking goad baby." He pants. He lowers one of his hands from your hip, resting it onto your swollen nub. Feeling your hips cower away from his touch. "Sensitive are we?" He chuckles. You whine out again and he laughs. "Quiet sweetheart. We don't need anyone finding out about this do we?" You shake your head after he says it. Not really caring about it. You didn't care if the entire task force heard you at this moment. You were too dazed to care.

He lowers himself into, resting more of his body weight onto you. Placing that pressure onto your body that you had daydreamed about so frequently when you had his shirts. Before you can stop it, you have tears gathering in your eyes, unable to stop them as they stream down your cheeks. "I'm- I-" You whine out. "S'alright. Cum for me. Show me what you got pretty girl." He smirks. He circles your clit with his finger still, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You shake when you finally reach your peak, walls throbbing around him as you cum. He clamps a hand over your mouth, smirking when they muffle the moans you were letting out. You could get him into so much trouble. "Just a bit more sweetheart. Gonna fill this pretty pussy. S'what you've been dreaming about right?"

Your hands grip the sheets as he overstimulates you. His pants get more desperate and labored as he approaches his own orgasm. He grits his teeth, he's so deep inside of you, you've never felt so full. He curses when he reaches his high. Lowering his head to rest against your chest. Panting hard as he pauses his thrusts. "Bloody hell." He gasps. Feeling your chest rise and fall with every breath you take.

It's silent for a minute, and than he's climbing off of you. You sit up, sliding to the edge of his cot as you redress yourself. Reaching to take his shirt off. "Stop." His stern voice has you freezing up. "I didn't say to take it off did I?" He laughs. Once he's redressed, he sits next to you on the bed. "Need something to tide you over for when I'm gone right?" He laughs. Raising up the bottle of cologne he has and spraying your chest with it, seeing you blush. "Although, you can always just come to me when you need something. Don't have to steal my shirts anymore, bad girl." He bites his lower lip.

You roll your eyes, embarrassed. He grips your chin, turning you to kiss him.